


5 Times Connor has a Delicious Cup of Coffee and 1 Time the Coffee is Disgusting

by orphan_account



Category: tronnor - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, mention of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor documents his relationship with Troye through coffee, because it's Connor and what did you expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first tronnor fic. I know these types of fics are normally one-shots and that's what I set out to write, but this first section got so long, I'm making it six chapters. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

To Connor, nothing was quite as beautiful as a perfect cappuccino. It wasn’t every day you came across a cappuccino as perfect as the one Connor was currently drinking. Normally, American coffee fell somewhere on the scale from literal shit to mildly drinkable, but this… This was next level. The shot of espresso was strong, but not overwhelming, while the steamed milk was velvety and deliciously thick. And was that a hint of cinnamon he detected? He savored each sip and the serenity and pure joy it arose in him-

“Bitch, you look ready to fuck that coffee.”

Connor’s coffee reveries were rudely interrupted by none other than Tyler Oakley.

“Seriously, your face right now is screaming orgasm,” Tyler continued.

Connor sighed and accepted that his moment of peace, alone with his coffee, was officially over.

“Nice to see you too, Tyler,” he responded.

It was only their second day at Playlist Live, but Connor could already tell this year’s convention was going to be even more insane than last year’s. There were literally thousands of people roaming the convention grounds and fans were more enthusiastic than ever before. Connor had even heard some of the more popular youtubers needed to have around the clock security details. He hadn’t had any major problems so far. Sure, some fans were a bit crazy, but for the most part they were kind and respectful towards him.

Tyler held some of the most popular meetups, so Connor was honored he took time away from his insanely busy schedule to hang out with him. They saw each other most nights at the parties Playlist hosted, but it was nicer to meet in smaller groups in the reserved café or in their hotel rooms.

“How’s it been?” Tyler asked, after sliding into the circle booth Connor sat at.

“Pretty good,” Connor responded. “I have a panel this afternoon, and a meet-up after that, so nothing too crazy. Tomorrow, though, is jam-packed…”

He trailed off when he noticed Tyler wasn’t listening; instead, he seemed to be intensely texting someone. This was seriously one of Connor’s major pet peeves – when his friends ignored him for technology – so he decided to mess with Tyler.

“Meetups been decent so far, but things really heated up last night. I ran into Jack and Finn, and they suggested a three-way, which, who am I to refuse, right? And Marcus knocked right in the middle of, you know, the frickle frackling, so we invited him to join us. Then, when the fucking had just started to get good, Caspar and Joe knocked-“

“Woah, woah, woah. Who now, what now, back up,” Tyler interrupted him.

Connor smirked at Tyler’s excitement.

“No, bitch,” Connor flung Tyler’s word back at him. “I was not having a six-way with our friends. Put down your phone!”

“Okay, fine, babe chill,” Tyler said. He was used to Connor’s quirks, so he looked more amused than anything else.

“Who were you texting so urgently, anyways? Grindr find?” Connor asked.

“Rude,” Tyler whined. “Who made you so sassy this morning? Normally coffee cheers you the fuck up.”

Connor smiled. His cappuccino had, actually. Did he mention it was a fucking perfect cappuccino?

Tyler answered his original question.

“And no, I was not texting some Grindr find, I do not have Grindr, I am not desperate-”

Connor threw him a skeptical look.

“Okay, maybe I have Grindr,” Tyler conceded. “But that’s beside the point. I was texting Troye, Troye Sivan? He flew in last night. You saw his videos right? You guys are absolutely meant for each other.”

Something in Connor stirred at hearing he was “meant” for this boy, and he felt his defenses go up. Maybe Tyler could sense how closed off he had become all of a sudden, so he gently amended what he had said.

“Meant to be best friends! You two better not become besties and leave me out.”

Connor was grateful Tyler hadn’t pushed the issue. He cracked a smile.

“Course not,” he said. “Leave Tyler Oakley out? Pretty sure that’s a criminal offense.”

Tyler pushed him playfully at this.

“So you’re cool with him coming down? Let me see how ready he is,” Tyler said.

He grabbed his phone and stared at it meaningfully, until Connor caught what he was asking.

“Fine, I guess, if you really feel you have to, you can check your phone,” Connor said, melodramatically as ever.

“Thanks, mom,” Tyler said. “Okay, looks like he’s showered and wants breakfast! What do you say?”

“What do you think? I’m going to say no he can’t come? Tell him Connor Franta is bursting at the seams in anticipation for the arrival of Troye Sivan.”

“Better not tell him you’re bursting in any way,” Tyler quipped.

He shot a cheeky wink at Connor. Connor rolled his eyes, but felt his face warm. He just hoped it wasn’t visibly red, as it tended to be more frequently than he liked.

“Whatever, Tyler. Just tell him to come already,” he said.

“Better not do that either, boo,” Tyler said, aiming yet another of his infuriating winks in Connor’s direction.

“I swear to God, Tyler. Whose mind is this far down the gutter at nine in the morning?”

“Your fucking queen, that’s who!” Tyler literally cackled.

Connor sighed again. He seemed to do that a lot in Tyler’s presence. Tyler was one of the best, most funny people he knew, but when he was in one of his moods, he bordered on being insufferable.

“Tyler, you know what I mean! Just tell Troye, I dunno, tell him to…”

“Tell me what?” answered a voice somewhere behind Connor.

Connor whipped around and almost knocked his perfect cappuccino over in the process. Standing there, a bit awkwardly, was none other than Troye Sivan himself.

Connor’s first thought in appraising him was that he seemed the exact same Troye who uploaded earnest cover videos and silly vlogs to the internet, yet he had something extra about him that Connor couldn’t quite put into words.

Some youtubers came off completely differently in real life than they did online. They were, for lack of a better way to describe it, deflated somehow. Connor worried he himself fell into this brand of youtuber, although that might just have been his anxiety talking.

However, Troye had, if anything, the opposite problem. He had that thing that made Connor feel certain he was going to be big someday. Like household name, besties with TaySwift, international superstar big. He was larger than life and oozed charisma, yet he wasn’t overly polished like some celebrities. He was real and authentic, and all of this combined made him utterly magnetic. Maybe it was his unreal blue eyes or maybe it was his high cheekbones and porcelain complexion or maybe it was his- And Connor cut off that line of thought, because he was definitely overthinking what made this boy tick, and he instead moved to introduce himself.

“Hey, I’m Connor. Nice to meet you, Troye,” he said.

Something about this particular meeting made Connor forgo his usual fuckboy greeting of back pat/man hug/hand slap, and he instead settled for a casual nod/hand wave combo that was meant to tell Troye to come over to the booth.

Troye luckily understood his gesturing, and he sidled over to the booth and slid in next to Tyler.

“Nice to meet you as well, Connah. Tyler here has told me a lot about you.”

Tyler giggled at that. Connor almost didn’t notice as the two hugged, because he was taking a moment to process Troye’s accent. It was the cutest thing Connor had ever heard. Sure, he knew of it through Troye’s videos, but to hear it in person was so much better. ‘Connah’. He quite liked that.

Tyler and Troye were busy catching up, so he turned back to his cappuccino. It was no longer quite as hot as he liked his coffee to be, but it was still a hell of a drink. He nursed it and kept to himself, but tuned back into the conversation when he heard Troye mention New Zealand.

“Yeah, we came back from holiday there recently. It’s gorgeous, Tilly. America’s great and all, but New Zealand is something else.”

“What’s it like?” Connor asked. “Because I’ve seen pictures and I’d love to take my own someday. I’ve heard you can take brilliant shots of the mountains, especially in the morning, because of the incredible way the sunlight hits them-”

“Excuse Connor, Troye. Being a part of O2l has made everyone think he’s cool, but he’s actually a complete dork,” Tyler interrupted.

“You just aren’t cultured, Tyler,” Connor retorted.

“Excuse you, I practically discovered Gaga. I’m like the epitome of culture.”

Tyler started singing Born this Way, mostly to himself, with his eyes closed and holding an invisible microphone. Troye glanced over at Connor and rolled his eyes in such a way that Connor couldn’t help but feel they had had these inside jokes for years. ‘Oh, well there goes Tyler and Gaga, take one trillion’. It had only been about five minutes since they’d met, and already Connor wanted to be Troye’s friend, a feeling that intensified with what Troye said next.

“For the record, your interest in photography is hella cool. Being head over heels in love with a craft is underrated,” Troye said.

Connor was a few years older than Troye, but he could tell Troye was wise beyond his years. In other words, they were intellectual equals, a quality Connor valued in his friends.

“What’s your passion then?” he asked.

Troye had so many talents, Connor wondered which was his favorite.

“I haven’t been pursuing it as much lately,” Troye responded. “But music, I think. It was my first love and hopefully I’ll get back into it this year.”

“Why haven’t you been pursuing it?” Connor asked.

Troye looked embarrassed to say, but he laughed at himself, and answered Connor.

“Well basically my voice broke and I freaked out. When I was twelve, I actually swore never to sing again, which in retrospect was probably just me being the angsty pre-pubescent boy I was. But I don’t know. The urge to sing and songwrite and produce and create has never left me.”

Watching Troye’s face light up when he discussed his work felt almost like intruding. It just seemed like Connor was getting to know the most private corners of Troye. The tender moment was broken, however, when Tyler snapped out of his Gaga haze.

“Alright, this has been fun. Troye, I’m sorry we didn’t get to catch up more. Both of you should come to my room tonight! I’m having an after-party thing, or you guys can come over whenever, but we’ll def see each other soon,” he said.

Troye moved to get out of the booth, but Tyler unabashedly climbed over him instead.

“Alright, love you both, Dubai!”

He rushed off and Troye and Connor watched him exit the café.

“Sometimes being with Tyler is like being around a tornado you know? He never stops spinning,” Troye remarked.

Connor laughed at this. Both boys then proceeded to compare schedules for the week. They had nothing that day until later, so they ended up staying in the café for the next three hours. When Connor realized it was practically lunch time, he wondered where the hell the time had gone. They exchanged numbers and promised to see each other again, maybe at Tyler’s after party, maybe at another impromptu café hang out. It wasn’t until after Troye had left that Connor realized the rest of his cappuccino had become so cold as to be undrinkable. Connor threw it away with a bit of regret, but he told himself he was being silly. After all, there were some people worth ignoring your coffee for.


	2. Chapter 2

“Connor! I’m starting Modern Family, with or without you,” Troye yelled from Connor’s living room.

Connor had just put a pot to brew in his newly acquired French press, so he quickly set a timer for his coffee and rushed to join Troye.

“You’re in my apartment, on my couch, watching my show, and you threaten to start without me? That’s it. I’m kicking you out, Troye. Go back to your hotel. No, better yet, go back to Australia,” Connor teased.

Troye was snuggled on his couch, hugging a pillow. He had indeed already pulled up Modern Family on Netflix, but Connor knew he wouldn’t dare start it without him. Teasing Troye was too much fun, though, and Connor resumed when he noticed Troye was wearing one of his favorite beige sweaters.

“You steal my clothes too! Where does the identity theft end, huh? I think you’re jealous of my life, Troye, and you steal my things to pretend you have it.”

“If I had your life, I’d have your hair. No thanks,” Troye said, his eyes reflecting the same kind of mocking merriment as Connor’s.

Connor took his hair very seriously, so he knew he couldn’t let Troye get away with such a remark. He reached over and shoved him off the couch, and started throwing his numerous pillows at Troye’s head. Troye flung up his hands to protect his precious face. He tried to look terrified for Connor’s sake, but he couldn’t help but laugh hysterically at Connor’s faux anger. Soon, both boys were breathless; their horseplay the only real exercise either had gotten in a few days.

“Connor!” Troye said, still gasping with laughter. “Please, stop it, stop it, I’m too weak for this.”

“Take it back then,” Connor ordered.

He recuperated one of his thrown pillows, only to chuck it again at Troye.

“Okay, okay, I take it all back, your hair is nice, nothing to be ashamed of, I mean sometimes the quiff falls flat after a long day,” Troye said, obviously unwilling to give in quite so easily.

Connor sunk down to where Troye was huddled on the floor. He gave him a soft smile, and Troye relaxed, clearly under the impression that the attack was over. But he was dead wrong. Connor mutated his gentle smile into a devilish smirk and launched himself at Troye’s frail body. Troye tried to squirm out of the way, but Connor was too fast and after a brief struggle he managed to pin Troye to the ground.

“Say my hair is fucking perfect! God’s gift to this Earth! Better than Logan Lerman’s!”

Connor knew Lerman to be Troye’s celebrity crush, because seriously, not a day went by when he didn’t mention his eyes or his acting ability or his butt. Connor was happy Troye was out and proud, but if he had to hear one more remark about the fullness of Logan Lerman’s ass…

Troye’s comments made Connor annoyed for another reason. Every time Troye talked about a guy, it reminded Connor that he still wasn’t out to him. He had finally, finally accepted his own sexuality and he had even come out to Tyler, but for some reason coming out to Troye was harder. He hated lying to him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say the two simple words. Connor mulled over this, but was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt Troye comb one of his hands through Connor’s hair.

“Lerman ain’t got nothing on you,” Troye said, voice low and sexy.

Connor froze. This. This is why he hadn’t come out to Troye. Because whenever Troye was flirty like this, as he did so often and probably without even thinking, Connor felt volatile inside. He felt explosive, like it’d only take another spark for him to go up in flames. Connor was very much about order, so feeling this out of control was not okay with him. He quickly shoved Troye’s hand off his face and pulled back from his intimate position above Troye, (Why? Why did he ever pin Troye to the ground? In what world was that a rational decision?) and moved to sit in an armchair across the room.

“You’re forgiven,” he said to Troye quietly, eyes trained downwards.

Connor didn’t dare make eye contact with him, but he could see Troye dazedly sitting up in his periphery. His face sported a look of confusion and muted hurt, as he probably understandably didn’t get why Connor had gone from being so playful to being so cold in a matter of seconds.

“I’ll start the show,” Troye said, after he had resumed his original position on the couch.

Half of Connor yearned to be closer to Troye, next to him on the couch, but the other half didn’t dare move, he hardly dared breathe after his screw-up of before. It seemed like Troye was going to ignore the entire incident, so he tried to forget about it as well. He forced himself to focus on the show, as the intro was ending, but his inner monologue wouldn’t shut up. ‘Tell him!’ it screamed. ‘I can’t!’ he yelled back at himself. It was getting ridiculous. Being gay and wanting to tell Troye was literally all he could think about. His eyes slid towards his friend, but it seemed like he was engrossed in the show, so he took the opportunity to study him and consider it.

While Connor had accepted his sexuality, he still wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of being gay. Hell, he still could barely say the words aloud to himself; what would happen if he were expected to talk about boys? If he told Troye, he could just imagine what would follow. Troye would prod him about who he was crushing on at the moment. He would drag Connor to gay bars and clubs, and pressure Connor to grind up on guys. Worst of all, he would become more overtly flirty than he already was (not that there was the possibility of Troye ever actually liking him, but still, Connor could just see how Troye would up the flirtations for the sake of a good laugh). Part of Connor knew Troye would never do anything to make him uncomfortable, but the possibility of all his worries actualizing was always there.

Troye suddenly turned towards him, and held his gaze. Maybe he could perceive Connor’s discomfort and anxiety, because he kindly smiled and patted the section of couch next to him. Connor smiled back and accepted his invitation. As he settled down next to Troye, he told himself he was being stupid. Troye was his best friend in the entire world, and it was ridiculous to think he would ever do anything to hurt Connor or push him past his comfort level. Connor was still practically vibrating with nervousness, but he told himself, fuck it, now or never.

“Troye,” he said. “Could you maybe pause the show for a second?”

“Sure, what’s up?” Troye said, as he turned to sit crisscross facing Connor.

Connor took a deep breath, which did absolutely nothing to steel his nerves.

“Well, um, you see…” Connor started.

He was already stumbling and stuttering, as he had known he would.

“Basically, I wanted to tell you, that, um-”

“Yeah?” Troye asked gently.

“That I-”

And then the timer for his coffee buzzed and any momentum Connor had built up fell utterly flat.

Troye looked to him expectantly. Connor twisted his hands together. He hadn’t noticed he was sweating, but he suddenly realized the webbing between his fingers was damp. He exhaled a breath.

“I better go get that,” he finally said.

Only him. This sort of thing only happened to him. Only he would have arguably one of the most defining moments of his life be interrupted by a fucking pot of coffee.

He strode briskly to his kitchen, because okay maybe his coffee had ruined the moment, but he wasn’t about to waste a perfectly good cup of French pressed deliciousness. He pressed the kettle’s plunger all the way down, and then poured the brew into two mugs.

Troye was in his same position when Connor returned to the living room, except he was now fiddling with the fringe on one of Connor’s pillows. Connor passed him one of the mugs, and though he was still irrationally irritated at his beverage, he couldn’t help but admit it smelled heavenly. He took a sip, and yup. Yup, it was as perfect as always. Nectar of the Gods, in his humble opinion. The way his spirits were so instantly lifted was maybe the wee-est bit disconcerting. Connor acknowledged to himself, that perhaps, just perhaps, he had a coffee problem.

Troye and Connor silently drank their beverages. Despite being on edge earlier, Connor felt oddly at peace. With his pristine drink, his best friend… Sunlight streamed through the venetian blinds and cast flickering shadows over Troye’s face. Connor’s hands itched for his camera, but he settled for just admiring the picturesque image before him. The quiet couldn’t last forever, though. It finally broke when Troye set down his mug on Connor's coffee table with a faint thump.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he said. “I’m here for you no matter what.”

Connor’s fingers instantly set to trembling. He still had no idea if he was ready for this. His shaking got so bad, the coffee in his cup threatened to spill over. Troye reached out to still his nervous fumbling. Connor pressed his mug into Troye’s hands. Troye’s tenderness had strengthened his resolve, but he was still skittish and really didn’t want to ruin his perfectly good couch. He grabbed the pillow Troye had been playing with instead; maybe that would help contain his restlessness. For what felt like forever, but was probably just a few minutes, he sat there tearing at the pillow. Troye simply watched Connor, with a steady look of unconditional caring. Finally, Connor stared at his pillow and said it.

“Troye, I’m gay.”

Troye didn’t hesitate in his response; his own internal reaction was entirely eclipsed by his need to comfort Connor. He scooted over to him and hugged him tight. After about a minute or so, Troye unlinked his arms, but didn’t release his grip on Connor’s shoulders. He lifted Connor’s chin, as his head was still aimed downwards, and made him look straight in his eyes.

“Connor,” he said. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life.”

Troye’s words were simple, but exactly what Connor needed to hear. No questions, no judgement, just the love of a friend. This time it was Connor who hugged Troye, and he nestled his head in Troye’s shoulder.

“I think I've known since I was 13,” he said, wanting to give Troye at least a brief explanation of what had led up to this moment. “But I only really recently admitted it to myself. I told Tyler two weeks ago, but no one else yet.”

There was not a hint of jealousy apparent in Troye upon hearing this.

Instead, he whispered into the side of Connor’s head, “So, so proud of you.”

They disengaged from their hug. Later they would have long, drawling talks about each other’s coming out processes, and over time they would get more and more comfortable confiding in each other some of their most hidden away thoughts and fears and desires. But for now, Connor was glad Troye could just re-start Modern Family and they could fall into their usual pattern. Everything was the same, but at the same time it felt like everything was different, in the best possible way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you to all of you who posted nice comments on the first chapter, you're all too kind. Secondly, I'm (hopefully) going to come out to my best friend this upcoming week, so yeah, writing this chapter was really emotional for me. Finally, next chapter will be set during their Italy trip, so stay tuned :)


	3. Chapter 3

Tyler:

They were sickening. Absolutely, positively sickening. Tyler had no patience for cheesy romantic couples, and his quota of sappiness tolerance had quickly run dry watching Troye and Connor interact. And they weren’t even dating, or so Tyler thought. Maybe they were and were keeping it a secret from everyone, but it didn’t really matter if they had made it official or not, because they were certifiably disgusting either way.

The cringe-worthy gooeyness hadn’t started immediately. When all of the boys first met up for their lads’ holiday to Italy, Connor and Troye greeted each other the same way they always had and proceeded to just act like really good friends. They dropped inside jokes on the regular, they rode together in the back of Louis’ car, and they shared a pair of earbuds, but nothing really out of the ordinary happened until they arrived in Italy.

That’s when they got ridiculous. They frequently isolated themselves from their friends and lagged behind the others, too caught up in each other to pay attention to where the group was going. They shared food and even went as far as to feed each other. Like? They had functioning hands, didn’t they? Connor “lost” his umbrella, so Troye insisted they share his and their hands “accidentally” brushed so often, Tyler winced. Tyler was walking in front of them at the time, but hadn't been able to restrain himself from sneaking looks backward, because maybe they were disgusting, but they were also the cutest twinks Tyler had ever seen.

Tyler refrained from saying anything about their lovesick ways to their faces for the majority of the trip, but eventually slipped up their second to last night in Europe. It started the same way most of their nights had: with all of the boys piled into Tyler’s hotel room.

It was noisy as always; the voices of the boys’ various conversations and activities overlapping and zinging around the room. Louis was set up at the hotel desk, editing his most recent vlog, while Alfie leaned against Louis’ chair, facetiming Zoe. Marcus announced he was going into the bathroom to call Niomi, and he warned he would “shank” anyone who interrupted him. Tyler rolled his eyes because 1) Marcus watched too much American T.V., and 2) Marcus pretended to be a level, needless guy, but he was just a thirsty bitch who couldn’t go a day without whispering vaguely sexual things to his girlfriend over the phone. Meanwhile, Joe and Caspar were sprawled on Tyler’s bed discussing a girl Joe had met at the bar they went to earlier that night.

“Help me, Caspar. I’m too pissed to think of anything good, what should I text her?” Joe was whining.

“Hell if I know, mate,” Caspar responded. “Don’t send dick pics, though. Last time I did that, the girl blocked me on all my social media.”

“You pillock. Of course she bloody blocked you. Luckily, I’m not as thick as you and I have no plans to wave my dick around,” Joe said.

He paused for a second.

“But maybe a shirtless picture?” he asked.

Tyler snorted. Straight people. They were fucking hilarious, but also teeth-grindingly painful to witness in action. Whenever Tyler watched his non-homosexual friends try to flirt and pick up girls, he sort of felt like he was watching the discovery channel, and the clumsy penguins or preening birds or whatever were engaging in absurd mating rituals.

Joe looked up at Tyler’s snort and blushed a little, which he should do more, because it was adorable, but it quickly faded as he made a face at Tyler.

“Yeah, like you’re better Tyler. I once watched you spend twenty-five minutes taking a selfie for some guy you hooked up with once and never talked to again.”

“Worth it,” Tyler said.

Tyler was still standing, as his room was super crowded, so he moved over to Joe and sat down on him. Joe let out an “oomph” and rolled over so that Tyler slid down onto the floor.

“No way Tyler,” he said. “I’m not having you wet yourself on me.”

Caspar, who had been playing with his toes for whatever reason, perked up at this, and burst into laughter.

“That was such a great vlog,” he chimed in. “Iconic. Probably the pinnacle of your career, Tyler.”

“Listen. I did not pee myself in that vlog. Sometimes I let loose a little pee, because I like to giggle hard, sue me, but that time it was beer.” Tyler said, defensively. 

“You’re not helping your case,” Joe said.

“It’s my bed! Babe, just scoot over a little; there’s nowhere else in this room to sit.”

Joe pointed at the trio of armchairs in a corner of the hotel room. Troye and Connor occupied two of them, but one was free.

“Perfectly good chair right there,” he said.

Tyler glanced over. Yes, there was a free chair, but Tyler didn’t dare intrude on the moment Connor and Troye were clearly having. Troye was on his knees, leaned over his chair, presumably to be closer to Connor. Connor’s hands were clutched tightly in his lap, and his eyes were fixated on his own fiddling thumbs, while Troye was speaking to him, technically way nearer to Connor’s ear than he needed to be. It was impossible to make out what Troye was saying, as he spoke in a hushed voice meant only for the boy next to him to hear, but Connor’s face was growing redder by the second. If it were anyone else, Tyler would have said he was talking dirty, but knowing Troye, he was probably expounding on how great Connor was. Troye finally pulled back, but not before catching an eyelash from Connor’s cheek. They were so cute and domestic, Tyler wanted to scream.

“You sure you want me to sit over there?” he finally asked Joe.

Between Tyler’s avid attempts to eavesdrop and his shit-eating grin, it seemed like Joe had caught on. His mouth flew open.

“Do you think…” he whispered.

He trailed off, but Tyler knew what he was asking. He gave Joe an infinitesimal nod.

“Not a word to anyone,” he said.

Joe nodded vigorously, looking exhilarated to be let in on the secret.

“Course not,” he affirmed.

He finally scooted over.

“Come sit,” he said.

Caspar broke out of whatever drunken daydream he had been in.

“What? What’d I miss? Why’d you let Tyler sit on the bed?” he asked, clueless as ever.

“I told him he could suck my dick later,” Tyler said.

Caspar gaped at this. Joe clocked him on the head.

“Not actually,” he scolded his friend. “You moron. I just felt bad for the guy.”

“Oh.”

Caspar fell back onto the bed and pulled out his phone to check twitter. Joe and Tyler, not wanting him to wise up, moved on to talking about their plans for tomorrow. Time lazily trickled by. Marcus finally emerged from the bathroom, looking a bit flushed. The boys all gave him shit for it, as was their modus operandi. Tyler moved over to Louis to help him with a certain edit he wanted to do, so Marcus took his place on the bed and started a violent round of slapjack with Joe and Caspar. All was normal, but the fun, chill atmosphere evaporated when heated voices arose from the corner of the room.

“I know what I’m talking about, okay? I found this band before you did,” Connor was saying.

“That’s a flat-out lie. I introduced them to you! Like most of the music you listen to,” Troye bit back.

“What? I literally showed you two artists yesterday, that you said were ‘actual geniuses’,” Connor said.

“I was being nice,” Troye dismissed.

“Why would you lie about that?”

“It was a white lie; it’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me! Just tell me you hate my taste in music.”

Troye rolled his eyes so aggressively, it looked like his eyeballs were gonna do a backwards 360 in his eye sockets.

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” he said.

Connor pushed out of his chair at that. He towered over Troye.

“Okay then. Just dismiss the fact that you literally admitted you lie to me constantly!”

“Why are you being like this? Chill the fuck out, Connor.”

“Whatever, Troye. Be an asshole.”

Troye rose out of his seat so suddenly, Connor stumbled back a few steps.

“I’m the asshole?” he practically screamed.

The boys faced off, their cheeks red, their breaths heavy and deep. Silence reigned over the room for ten seconds or so, but the moment of tension was eased a little by Zoe, who unknowingly shattered the quiet.

“What’s happened? Why are people yelling, Alfie?” she asked, her voice piping out of Alfie’s phone.

Alfie looked at a loss as to what to say, so he just awkwardly mumbled he’d be back and exited into the hallway, maybe to answer Zoe in private, but most likely to escape being a witness to the fallout of the argument in the room.

Troye and Connor, meanwhile, had not been deterred from their quarrel by the interruption. Both had slightly clenched fists, and though fighting was neither of their styles, it seemed as if one of them might throw a punch at any moment. They stood-off until Troye muttered something under his breath.

“What?” Connor demanded.

“I said fuck off, Connor Franta,” Troye said, eyes seething.

“Guys!” Marcus finally yelled.

He raised his eyebrows at them, and Connor and Troye broke away. They didn’t sit back in their armchairs, though; they moved to opposite sides of the room. Both were still breathing hard. Their anger radiated across the whole room, and nobody really seemed to know what to do, until Tyler decided to intervene.

“You aren’t fooling anyone, babes. We all know you’ve been fucking on the regular, so why don’t you just head back to your room? Relieve the sexual tension before the rest of us get carried away, am I right Marcus?

Tyler’s intention had honestly been to defuse the tension, though maybe a part of him had wanted to get Troye and Connor to fess up to their behavior of late. Regardless, he figured he’d make a joke of the whole thing, as his light-hearted ways often worked to brush over confrontation, but one look at Connor’s face and he knew he had seriously miscalculated the situation.

Connor’s face reflected some awful combination of hurt and embarrassment and fear, but it soon all faded away to reveal genuine rage. He honestly looked ready to strangle someone. For one terrifying minute, it really seemed like he was going to lunge at Tyler, but instead Connor pushed through all the boys, gave a passing shove to Tyler, and flung open the door. Alfie was on the other side, and he smiled at Connor, but instantly faltered when he saw the state Connor was in.

“Hey man, take a deep breath. It’s okay. Come on, come back in. Let’s work this through,” Tyler watched him try to say.

But it was too late. Connor was already boarding an elevator down the hall. Before Alfie could so much as move, the doors clanged shut and Connor was whisked off their floor.

Tyler was trying to avoid making eye contact with Troye, so he instead focused on Alfie who was saying a quick goodbye to Zoe.

“Yeah, no idea what’s going on. I’m gonna go see. Love you, sweetheart. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Tyler had expected Troye to speak up by now. He turned away from Alfie, and found Troye hovering near his bed. He looked to be deep in thought, though it was a worried sort of contemplation, not a fuming sort of one. His anger seemed to have dispelled the moment Connor left his airspace. Tyler figured he should attempt some sort of apology.

“Troye, please know I never meant to hurt anyone. I’m so sorry what I said set Connor off. I had no idea-” he tried.

Troye cut him off.

“It’s okay, Tyler. It’s not really your fault, anyways,” he said softly.

An awkward silence followed, at which, all the boys (except Troye and Tyler) decided it was high time to return to their own hotel rooms. They gathered their possessions, said their goodnights, and headed out. Once alone, Tyler ventured to ask what he desperately wanted to know.

“Do you know what exactly about what I said made him so upset?”

“Not really,” Troye muttered.

“Cause you know I joke like that with everyone. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Tyler said.

“Yeah,” Troye said. “I know.”

His words were directed towards Tyler, but he seemed really distracted and was fidgeting towards the doorway.

“I should go find him, right?” he asked.

Tyler didn’t know how to respond, so Troye answered his own question.

“Yeah, I should,” he said.

But despite his affirmation, he lingered. Tyler didn’t think he had ever seen him more nervous. Finally, after some more wavering on Troye’s part, Tyler decided to give him the go ahead. After all, if there was anyone who could bring Connor back to Earth, it was Troye. He gently placed a hand on his back, and gave him a shove.

“Go ahead, Troye,” Tyler said. “You’ll know what to say.

Troye nodded and gave a slight smile to Tyler before leaving his room. Tyler heaved a sigh. He hated it when his friends were mad at him. He just hoped Troye would be able to remedy whatever Connor was going through, and that that reparation would allow Connor to forgive Tyler.

 

Connor:

He felt stupid. Really, seriously stupid. He had flipped out over, what? Troye insulting his taste in music? The revelation that Troye sometimes lied to him? One of Tyler’s standard jokes?

Connor knew it wasn’t actually any of these things. Fighting with Troye hadn’t helped anything and okay, maybe Tyler’s comment had triggered his real worry, but it wasn’t either of their faults he had lost it.

He knew that ultimately what had made him storm out of the hotel was his suppressed desire for Troye. His want was as unbridled as a once confined horse set free on grassy plains. Logically, this should have been in contradiction with how constrained he kept his feelings from not externalizing, but Connor was a complex human being with complex human emotions, okay?

His affinity for Troye was never simple, but it was always pure. The thoughts in his mind were wild with Troye. It was the white noise when he was trying to eat or write or film a video. It was the highs he felt after spending a night out with Troye or whenever they set one of their playlists to shuffle and a love song came on. When Troye looked how he did that night, when they shared light, whispering touches, Connor never wanted to be so bad. Troye made him want to exist and shout his existence into their void of a universe.

When Troye whispered inside jokes or compliments into his ear, Connor finally understood what it meant to like someone so hard it hurt. Connor hadn’t known he had fallen until he tried to pick himself up, only to be slammed back down by the being that was Troye Sivan Mellet.

But Connor kept a rigidly tight lid on all of his feelings. If he caught himself being too flirty with Troye, he reigned it back in, or made it clear he thought it was all for laughs. If his touches ever lingered on Troye’s skin, he pretended to pick off a hair or a piece of lint or whatever. Now that Connor thought about it, he was probably painfully obvious despite all of his measures not to be. Except he never, ever vocalized any of his truths, and that was what really mattered.

There were times Connor suspected Troye felt everything he was feeling, like when they held eye contact for too long or when Troye blushed at Connor’s praise for him. But other times he wasn’t so sure. Troye was flirty with all of his friends, not even just the guys, and not even just in the same joking manner as Tyler. He was so open with everyone, so ready to share his love with his friends. Connor had no way of knowing if he was special, or just another notch on Troye’s tally of people he enjoyed being with.

It had almost been easier with girls, because there were no stakes involved in asking one out. If they said yes, fine. If they said no, whatever. Connor hadn’t really wanted to date one anyways. But thinking about revealing his feelings to Troye and being rejected made him want to huddle under his bedcovers and never emerge.

Connor’s thoughts came to a halt when he saw he had been too busy contemplating his problems to notice where he was walking. He tried to get his bearings. Though the signs were all in Italian, which made his location hard to place, Connor thought that the gelato cart at the corner was most likely the one they had passed earlier that afternoon. Now that he sort of knew where he was, where did he want to go? Back to the hotel?

Connor wasn’t ready for that, especially since it meant going back to his shared hotel room with Troye, and potentially facing Tyler. Where to then? A few bars were still open, but Connor was already buzzed and was not in the mood for any more socialization. What were his other options? And then he remembered. The fountain.

He and Troye had found it on one of their accidental excursions away from the group. They had been obediently tagging along, but Troye stopped to tie his shoelaces and by the time he had finished, their friends had long disappeared. They had wandered randomly for a while. Troye tried to call Tyler multiple times and had just left another voicemail with him when Connor found it. He was a little ahead of Troye, so he rounded a corner before him and came upon the hidden treasure that was the Inizi fountain. Connor remembered he had literally gasped out loud.

He ran back, not wanting to enjoy it without Troye. Troye asked if it was a hot guy, but Connor shushed him and pulled him around the corner. And then they both froze together, in awe of the magic they had found.

The Inizi fountain wasn’t staggering and overwhelming like the Trevi fountain, nor was it intricately carved and historically significant like the Fountain of the Four Rivers, both of which the boys had seen during their travels. Instead, it was beautifully and refreshingly simple. It was boxed in on three sides by towering walls that had unfinished arches carved into them. Brown and green moss engulfed the tops of all three walls and stretched downwards enough to touch the benches that sat at the bottom of the side arches. 

The fountain itself was inset in the middle arch, so visitors faced it upon entering the enclosure. It was essentially a black granite basin, but its ebony hue made it stand out from the beige stone and leafy greens behind it. The fountain’s main feature was a Roman goddess statue, who instead of holding the usual vase or baby, oddly wielded a cleaver. 

Localized ivy peered through the cracks in the stone tiles the fountain rested on, and in places extended far enough to caress the goddess’ dress. Water jetted erratically from all around the fountain’s circular base, onto the woman and onto the mossy walls, so that there was a constant melody of drip, drip, drip in the hide-away that echoed soothingly.

Troye and Connor had stayed in that square for nearly half an hour, before Tyler finally called Troye back. At first, they had just enjoyed the sanctified feel of the space, but Connor had eventually pulled out his camera and snapped some shots of Troye. 

There was a particularly beautiful one of Troye, sitting on the fountain ledge getting sprinkled by sunlight and water droplets, that was pulled up on Connor’s computer right now, waiting to be edited. Editing had been Connor’s plan for the evening, but obviously it had all gone to shit. 

He sighed and made his way onto the leftmost bench for the second time that day. If he was being honest with himself, Connor had come to the fountain because a small, teeny part of him hoped Troye would come looking for him and know to find him at the fountain. He hadn’t even brought his phone, so there wasn’t really any way for Troye to know to come here, other than the ludicrous wish that he too had sensed the connection that first day at the fountain. 

But Troye was probably still back at the hotel, either bitching about Connor to the boys or getting ready for bed. Connor was going to have to make his way back to the hotel alone, but he didn’t leave just yet. He knew it took Troye about twenty to thirty minutes to fall asleep, so maybe he could wait him out. It was a cowardly thing to not want to face him, Connor knew, but it had been a rough night as is.

Connor leaned his head against the moss, and half dozed, half withered in his thoughts. He watched the stars twinkle through his almost slanted shut eyes, and considered whether or not his behavior had been safe, venturing off alone in a foreign country where he didn’t know the language. Probably not. Connor shut his eyes.

He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until a voice woke him up. 

“Connor,” it whispered. “Connie, wake up.”

Connor fluttered his eyes open and looked for the source of the noise. And there, perched on the rim of the fountain, was none other than Troye Sivan. He looked angelic, lit only by moonlight and the white lights at the bottom of the fountain. His eyes were especially reflected off of, and they swam in Connor’s vision. They swam because Connor may or may not have been blinking back tears at the pale, ethereal sight before him. Troye was speaking though, so Connor tried to focus on what he was saying.

“I’ve been here about ten minutes. I didn’t want to wake you up, you looked so peaceful snoring away on the bench like that. And I felt like a creep watching you sleep, so I read this fountain’s plaque. I didn’t notice it the first time we came, did you?” Troye asked.

Connor shook his head, bewildered.

“It’s in Italian and English,” Troye rambled on. “And it says this. ‘The Inizi fountain has woman Intercidona, goddess minor of childbirth, invoked to keep sprits and evil away of kids new born.’ The English translation isn’t very good,” Troye laughed. “‘Intercidona provides axe without which trees can not be at all cut’. So we’re being watched over by the goddess of birthing and cleavers. Seemed bloody and not relevant to us at all, until I thought about it and realized Intercidona provides the axe to teach children how to cut down wood for their homes. And then I kept reading, and the rest of the plaque says: ‘Inizi means beginnings in Italian. This fountain shows start of new life, but also new hope and new love’. You know I’m not a sentimentalist, Connor, but for some reason that made me tear up. Because I’m sitting here, regretting everything that happened tonight, wondering if I messed us up over the most stupid, trivial fight. I meant none of it. I was fired up, because… honestly, I…” 

Troye faltered for the first time in his speech. He took a shaky breath.

“I really, really like you.”

Connor, who had been at first confused at Troye’s musings, then relieved at his apology, now had every possible emotion tense up in him. He curled his knees up against his body, looked to the stars, and held his breath.

“And I’ve wanted to tell you this whole trip,” Troye went on. “But I never had the guts and I was scared of making things awkward, because I value this friendship more than you can possibly know. But I’ve fallen too hard for you, Connor. I want to build a house with you, not like an actual house, a metaphorical one. A house of our relationship. And this is all coming out wrong, but we’re at this fountain, in fucking Italy, and I want us to make our new Inizi. Our new beginnings. Our new hope, our new love. Am I making any sense? Probably not, but it’s two in the morning, and I got you some coffee , because I had no idea what to do and found this café miraculously open down the street.”

Connor let go of his breath, and laughed deeply at this. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay, and not just okay, because Troye liked him. Troye Sivan liked him and would probably be okay with going on a date with him and maybe would be okay with Connor kissing him… 

Troye had finally gone silent, so Connor walked over to him and grabbed the coffee he had brought. He set it aside. Troye startled at that. Connor Joel Franta, setting aside coffee?

“Wha aw you doin?” he asked confusedly, in the most precious baby voice Connor had ever heard. “Why ah you not dwinkin the coffee, Connie?”

Connor responded by kissing him. He kneeled on the ledge next to Troye, carefully threaded a hand through his curls, and drew his face towards him. Troye’s eyes were so, so wide and Connor could feel his fingers twitching on Connor’s knees. Connor matched Troye’s lengthy declaration with a much simpler one of his own.

“I’m feeling everything you’re feeling,” he said.

He placed his lips on Troye’s. They just barely brushed mouths, and Connor moved to pull back, but Troye reeled out of the fog he had been in and leapt to grab the back of Connor’s neck. He kissed him decisively, and their mouths moved together this time.

‘Kissing guys was probably better than kissing God’, Connor had time to think, before Troye stuck his tongue in his mouth and he was unable to think anything except, ‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’. 

Yes, Connor was kissing Troye. Yes, Troye had just bitten his lip and was tugging at it ever so gently. Yes, Troye’s hands were now on his back and bunched in his shirt. 

Finally, Troye withdrew from the kiss. Both boys were breathless, and Connor was taken back for a second to their fight of earlier.

“I didn’t mean anything back in the hotel room, either,” he said, probably a bit belatedly.

“I realized,” Troye said, before grabbing onto Connor’s shirt collar to give him one more hard kiss. 

Connor couldn’t help how he collapsed onto Troye’s shoulder after that. It was all too much. Troye wrapped his slim arms around Connor’s frame and hugged him close. 

“How’d you even find me?” Connor asked.

“Because you’re the cheesiest guy I know,” Troye responded. 

At this, Connor pushed Troye and sat up.

“Okay, okay,” laughed Troye. “Second cheesiest. 

And he gave Connor the cheesiest grin and Connor beamed and sunk his head back onto Troye’s shoulder to hide just how much he was smiling, and everything was right. Really, really right. 

After a while, both boys realized they should probably head back to the hotel. They held hands the whole way back, and if they made out against the gelato cart, well it was three a.m. and they were alone in Italy and no one need ever know. 

They were giggly on the elevator ride up, high on life and each other. Making their way down the hall was a struggle, because one would laugh and kiss the other, and the other would smile but shush the one because their friends were all sleeping, and they kept repeating this pattern until they stumbled upon their room. 

Connor hesitated in the doorway, though, because as wonderful as this all was, it was also really new. And now they were already alone in a hotel room. Troye had moved farther in, but turned back when he saw Connor wasn’t following.

“All good, Connor?” he asked, voice innocent. “We can stop if you’d like, sleep in separate beds.”

Connor’s only thought was ‘hell, no’. Troye, that motherfucker, was baiting him and Connor bit. Literally. He responded by pushing Troye over and down onto the closest bed, while simultaneously getting in a good nip to his neck. Troye let out a surprised laugh, but Connor silenced him with his lips. 

Their position was awkward, so Connor propped himself up on his elbows to avoid crushing Troye. He kissed him more vigorously than the times before, and their kiss started to get sloppy as their tongues dipped in and out of each other's mouths. Troye reached up to tangle his fingers in Connor’s hair and fuck, nothing had ever felt so good. Connor slid his hands under Troye's loose t-shirt; his warm hands devouring Troye's cool skin. Troye stirred beneath Connor, then knocked him over in order to be on top. Troye craned his head down to kiss up Connor’s neck, then behind his ear, lips bruising his jaw, brushing over his hairline, anywhere he could reach. Connor tentatively ran his hands up Troye's thighs, squeezing gently as they came up to grab his ass. Troye groaned into his skin and Connor sighed. Seconds, minutes, maybe decades passed as they made out, under the moonlight, on steadily more and more rumpled sheets.

And then Connor’s phone rang. Troye kissed Connor through the first three rings, his vote obviously being to ignore it altogether. Connor was conflicted, but eventually pulled Troye’s arms off him. His moan of disappointment was almost enough for Connor to jump right back into it, but his worries over why he was receiving a three a.m. phone call won out. 

He padded over to his phone and accepted the call.

“Hey, Connor?” asked Tyler timidly on the other line. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Upon hearing the regret in Tyler’s voice, Connor knew he had to take the call. He mouthed ‘Tyler’ to Troye who was asking “whoitit” from the bed, in his stupid cute baby voice. 

Tyler wanted Connor to come back to his room to properly talk, and as much as he wanted to be with Troye, Connor knew it was the right thing to do. So he kissed Troye on the forehead and promised to be back soon.

Though Connor had straightened himself up, he was still rumpled, but if Tyler noticed he didn’t say anything. Connor refrained from telling him about the recent development with Troye; that’d be a conversation for another day. Instead, they exchanged heartfelt apologies and parted with a hug. Connor practically skipped back to his room; this kissing thing was really the best pastime ever and he was ready to give it another go. But when he opened their door, he saw Troye had already fallen asleep. Connor would have been surprised had it not been the most predictable Troye behavior ever. 

Connor wasn’t really disappointed, though. He changed into his pajama shirt and boxers and climbed into bed with Troye. He wrapped his arms around him and snuggled close. He was so at peace, his regular insomnia was nowhere to be seen, and his eyes drifted shut almost immediately. His last thought before he fell asleep was to remember the coffee Troye had offered him. Damn it, he had left it at the fountain. Though it was a downright shame, as Italian coffee surpassed pretty much any other man made creation, Connor contented himself with the fact that he hadn’t touched one drop of coffee all day. Maybe his addiction was easing, though if that were true, it was only because Connor had found a new drug.

He nestled his nose into Troye’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to write from Tyler’s pov, because I find it easy for some reason and it helped me dissolve some of the cheesiness that would have ensued in the first part had it been tro or con’s pov. Also sorry this got so long, hopefully you all weren’t bored out of your minds. And sorry if there wasn’t really any coffee in this chapter, if that bothers you? Again, thank you for the comments; they make my day. // Next chapter will feature drunk tronnor (although it may take me longer to update as my school starts up tomorrow).
> 
> //also random inquiry for those of you who have read this far. The fountain was inspired by me thinking I had once seen a picture Connor posted, of a fountain he found in Italy. It had a little statue and ivy on it… Idk, maybe I dreamed it, I tend to confuse dreams with reality sometimes. But if this exists, and someone knows where the picture is, please lmk, I’ll love you forever.


	4. Chapter 4

“Baby, time to wake up. Wake up, wake up.”

These words floated down to Connor and tugged him awake. He quivered open his eyes. Hazy sunlight illuminated the dust particles hovering over him, and the boy sitting on his bed. Connor tried to sit up, but thunked back down when he felt dizziness overtake him. A hand gently pushed him back into the pillows.

“Take it easy,” his boyfriend murmured.

There was a throbbing behind Connor’s eyes and his temples felt constricted. Hangover, then. His mouth tasted disgusting. What exactly had happened last night? It was all so muddy.

He watched as Troye joined him in bed. It seemed he was holding two mugs. Of coffee? Yes, Connor could smell its faintly bitter, yet mostly delicious aroma overcome the only other thing he smelled, which was unfortunately his own B.O. He reached out a weak hand to grasp a mug from Troye.

“Thank you,” he croaked.

He took a first sip and suddenly felt like a real human again. He gulped down more, not paying attention to how it scalded his throat. He swallowed and sat up.

“How are you less hungover than I am?” he asked.

Troye shrugged.

“’M not,” he said. “Just took a few Advil. I woke up early, and I dunno. Wanted to take care of you, after… everything.”

“Thanks,” Connor smiled.

He reached out his fingers to tickle the inside of Troye’s arm. He caressed him softly for a few moments, but then what Troye had said registered.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘everything’? What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Troye frowned at him.

“Not much. I’m not even really sure what day it is.”

“Sunday, Connie. Jeez, you really don’t remember. I think I was asleep for large chunks of last night, but I remember bits and pieces of Saturday. You don’t remember anything?”

“Nothing,” Connor said.

“Ahh, well. That’s alcohol for you,” Troye said.

He lay down next to Connor. They enjoyed their beverages in silence for a bit. Once he had drained the liquid from his mug, Connor turned his face towards Troye’s. His gaze was so tender, so relaxed, so lazy… Memories stirred–  


>>>

Their Thursday, Friday, and Saturday had progressed languidly, time seeming to pass so vaguely, Troye had dubbed their extended weekend ‘Lazy Dazeee’. Both their weeks had been jam-packed; Connor in the midst of amending his first draft of “Work in Progress” with his editing team, Troye absorbed with crafting marketing schemes for his upcoming EP. They had barely seen each other the whole week, so Troye crashed at Connor’s place starting Thursday afternoon as neither had commitments until Monday.

They didn’t leave the apartment for 48 hours, despite requests from their friends to go out. The boys cited the days’ downpours as their excuse and their friends bought it, knowing those used to the LA sun were reluctant to expose themselves to rain. Connor and Troye were full of shit, though, and both knew it. Rain wasn’t stopping them. No, it was more the fact that they had taken a week-long sex hiatus. Being in the same country and forgoing sex so long was, to both boys, pretty much akin to torture, and neither was willing to abstain any longer.

That first night they made love under Connor’s sheets until the sun rose, and really only left the bedroom after that to eat GrubHub sushi and to catch up on Connor’s queued documentaries. By Saturday afternoon, though, both were sated, and Connor was personally starting to feel the tiniest bit claustrophobic. He wasn’t sure if Troye would want to go out, however; he would probably need some convincing.

Troye was at the kitchen counter, spreading Nutella on some bread he had toasted. Connor padded into the kitchen silently, and jumped out from behind the fridge to surprise him. Troye startled, but before he could react, Connor trapped him in a corner of the kitchen, boxing him in with his torso, hips, and arms.

“Hey!” Troye protested.

He tried to jimmy out of his boyfriend’s grasp, but Connor just laughed at his futile attempts.

“Why aw you doin’ this?” Troye pouted, pulling out his baby voice.

He knew it affected Connor, but no matter how much Connor’s heart melted at Troye’s cuteness, he wasn’t giving up just yet. He planted a kiss below Troye’s ear.

“Let’s go out, babe,” he said.

Troye sighed. He went back to spreading his Nutella.

“I don’t know. That involves effort,” he responded.

“What kind of effort? Getting dressed? Brushing your teeth?” Connor asked.

He meant it teasingly, but Troye took him seriously.

“Well, yeah,” he whined.

Connor moved his hands from the kitchen counter to Troye’s hips, which he lightly grasped. He let his lips drop to Troye’s neck.

“Come on,” he whispered into Troye’s skin. “Tyler’s been asking for days. Apparently there’s a cool new club on Spring.”

He brushed his lips over the back of Troye’s neck. Troye shivered, but didn’t respond. Connor craned his neck around Troye’s, and started working the sensitive spots Connor had found over the course of their time together. If Troye wasn’t going to reply, he’d dissolve his resolve with his mouth. At first he just left open-mouthed kisses at each of Troye’s pulse points, but when Troye still didn’t respond, he escalated to sucking them.

After a minute or two of this, Troye finally stirred. He was obviously trying to keep it together, but Connor heard his bit-back moan loud and clear. Connor grinned. He kept sucking Troye’s neck, but now incorporated the slightest bit of teeth. His biting always drove Troye wild, and this time was no exception. Troye gave a no-holds-barred moan and started grinding his ass into Connor’s crotch. Connor instantly hardened at this. Well, shit. Connor hadn’t known his convincing would affect him as much as it was supposed to Troye. But he wasn’t about to give up. He reached around Troye and started slowly palming him through his sweatpants.

“Well?” he asked Troye, voice low and heady. “What’d you say?”

“Con,” Troye groaned. “I was going to say yes, but what you’re doing is making me want to stay in.”

Oh. Connor let go of Troye and stepped back. Troye swept around, looking anguished.

“I didn’t mean stop!” he protested.

Connor smiled at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I sort of… lost control. But how ‘bout this? We go out in an hour and come home around midnight? Then we’ll have all night to get back to, um, what we’re doing.”

He bit his lip.

“But…” Troye whined.

He glanced down at his bulging sweatpants. Connor couldn’t help but smirk at that.

“The wait’ll make tonight better,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

He kissed Troye hard, pinched his ass, and right before he strode away, dipped his finger in the Nutella and smeared it on Troye’s nose, just to be cheeky. It was a struggle not to turn around to look at Troye’s face, but the whimper Connor heard was pretty indicative of what it may have looked like.

Connor licked his finger clean. Once in a while, he enjoyed being a tease like this. Having Troye on edge was hilarious (and very much a turn-on, if he was being honest). By the time they came home, they’d both be a mess, and Troye would be so damn eager. Tonight was gonna be fun.

Except they didn’t end up making it home until five in the morning. How did their plans get so derailed, exactly? Days later, Connor would claim it had all been Tyler’s fault.

They met up around nine at Tyler’s apartment, where Korey was staying as well. The four of them rode together in an Uber to the club Tyler had been raving about earlier, but it turned out to be a bust. The place was brightly lit, sparsely populated, and was playing some seventies electronic disco. The food turned out to be surprisingly good, though, so they all ate dinner before hopping to one of their regular clubs down the road.

That club was actually the first gay club Connor had ever been to, and Troye, knowing this, gave his hand a quick squeeze as they entered.

“I miss scared of gays Connor,” he said.

Connor elbowed him in the gut.

“Maybe I’m still scared of gays,” he said in mock anger.

He speed walked up to Tyler and Korey, leaving Troye behind. Troye hurried to catch up and when he finally managed to, he slid a hand around Connor’s waist.

“Aww, Connie. Are you scared of me?” he whispered into Connor’s ear.

Connor scoffed.

“You better be scared,” Troye continued. “Of what I’m gonna do to you tonight.”

His hand drifted from Connor’s waist to his butt, and Connor couldn’t help but yelp when he felt Troye start to knead it.

“Troye, we’re in public,” he hissed.

Their flirtations hadn’t gone unnoticed by Tyler and Korey.

“Mmhmm, in public with people enjoying the show,” Tyler said, smirking saucily at the boys.

“Seriously,” Korey added. “Why don’t I have someone to grab my butt?”

He looked to Tyler expectantly.

“Nope. No way, nuh-uh,” Tyler said.

Korey pouted.

“Don’t worry, babe. We’ll find you someone tonight,” Tyler assured him.

He winked at the bouncer, who had overheard the whole conversation, but the guy just scowled at Tyler before finally letting them through. Korey and Tyler beelined for the bar.

“Babe, you good if I get us drinks?” Connor asked.

Troye nodded. It wasn’t technically legal for him to drink in America, but as long as Connor bought his drinks, nobody really paid any attention.

“Find us a table, maybe?” Connor suggested.

“I’ll try,” Troye responded, if somewhat dubiously.

Connor understood his hesitation to mean they probably wouldn’t find one. The club was packed to the brim, bodies compressing every inch of available airspace. He gave Troye an encouraging smile anyways, before joining Tyler and Korey at the bar.

They were predictably already flirting with the bartender. Connor didn’t recognize him, which probably meant he was new or as Tyler would have labeled him, “fresh meat”. Korey nudged him and grinned.

“Right?” he asked Connor, eyes slanted meaningfully towards the admittedly very attractive barman.

Connor nodded, amused, and tried to push his way closer to the bartop to see the list of drinks the club sold. They were famed for having “forward-thinking mixologists” which to Connor just sounded like typical L.A. pretentious bullshit, but everything still tasted good so he pretended he knew what he was talking about and ordered two of the “Slippery Nipple”. If only his mom could see him now.

The bartender, whose name, Tyler informed him, was Nick, warned him it might be a few minutes before the drinks would be ready. Connor waited on a barstool sticky with spilled drink and watched his friends barrage Nick. Tyler was fingering his apron and telling some sort of elaborate joke, while Korey was leaning all the way over the bar under the guise of being hard of hearing. After a few minutes, Nick excused himself from the hold of their rapt attention and returned with all of their drinks. Connor thanked him and told his friends he was off to find Troye. He had just hopped down from his barstool when Tyler grabbed his bicep and pulled him violently onto the edge of the dance floor.

“What the hell?” Connor asked, annoyed.

“Can they see us? Is that tall person blocking us?” Tyler ignored his question with two of his own.

“What?” Connor had no idea what Tyler was getting at.

“Nick! And Korey. Can they see us?” Tyler clarified impatiently.

“Oh. Umm, no? I don’t think so.”

“Okay good. Connor, listen, I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Connor asked.

Tyler’s favors were either harmless requests or laborious demands depending on the day and situation, and Connor wanted to clarify which this would be before committing to anything.

“Babe, come on. Just say yes. I’ll collab with you,” Tyler begged.

Connor raised his eyebrows at Tyler.

“Are you really bribing me with a collab?” he asked. “I’ve never felt more offended. You know what? I’ll do this favor for free, because I, unlike you, am a good friend.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Tyler shouted, so excited he almost knocked over one of Connor’s Slippery Nipples.

Connor was not impressed. He took a step back from Tyler to avoid any other potential disasters and stared him down.

“So? What kind of favor?” he demanded.

“Mmm, well,” Tyler started. “You know how Nick is really hot?”

Connor laughed.

“Yeah, I noticed you drooling over him.”

Tyler rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. We can’t all have perfect relationships like you. So basically, Nick is really hot and I’ve devised a multi-step plan to take him home with me tonight.”

Connor gaped at him.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that one more time? Tyler Oakley, a plan? For hooking up? What happened to ‘digits in minutes’?” he asked.

“Babe, again, we can’t all be as blessed as you. Gorgeous boys don’t always fall for me with no effort on my end. Nick is hot; I’m gonna have to werk a little.”

“Okay, what kind of ‘werk’?”

“Well first off, I need to be near Nick at all times, but I can’t have any interruptions. So I’m gonna have to order a ton of drinks, but I can’t be drunk. A little tipsy, but not wasted, so you and your boyfriend are gonna have to “steal” all my alcoholic beverages. You guys also need to run interference for me, so watch for any guys that comes our way and… I don’t know. Hit on them? Match them up with each other? Whatever, just make sure they’re outtie. Next, I saw this guy eyeing Korey from across the room, no Nick, but perfectly pleasant, so I’m gonna hook them up and you and Troye need to make sure they stay together. Finally, I can’t look anti-social, so every like half hour pull me onto the dance floor for a song or two. Capiche? You get all that? You probably should’ve been taking notes or something.”

Connor was sort of speechless. He fished for words, but finally just swallowed down every one of his shocked thoughts.

“You’re paying for drinks, right?” he asked instead.

“Fine,” Tyler sighed, as if he were the one doing Connor a favor.

The boy was un-fucking-believeable. Connor sighed in resignation, though, and shook Tyler’s hand to seal their deal. Tyler returned to the bar, and Connor finally went to find his boyfriend. After squeezing through several too-sweaty bodies, he spotted him. He was sprawled comfortably across a cushioned banquette, apparently having managed to secure a booth. Connor smiled at him, slipped into the booth, and passed Troye his drink. Troye bit the tip of his drink’s straw and Connor watched as his eyes bulged out upon taking his first sip.

“Your Slippery Nipple’s good?” he asked.

Troye spit out his mouthful of cocktail.

“My what? Is what?” he asked, face utterly flummoxed.

“The drink, silly,” Connor told him.

Troye looked at Connor, then at his drink, and back again.

“You got this one on purpose,” he said. “Just so you could say that.”

“Okay, maybe,” Connor conceded. “Worth it to see you so adorably flustered.”

Troye blushed. Somehow flirting and complimenting each other in public always felt more exciting than it did when they were alone. Maybe it was because they always had the fear of being outed in the back of their mind, so they often restrained themselves in public, but here, in the ear-drum shattering club, it was unlikely they would be overheard.

“What took you so long?” asked Troye, once they had both downed a considerable portion of their drinks.

“Well…”

Connor filled him in on all the details of Tyler’s insane plan. Troye was amused, but not really surprised he had come up with the whole thing, and he decided he was game to try it. Connor had had a sneaking suspicion he would be, as his boyfriend was never really one to pass up free alcohol. They gave up the booth Troye had found, another group swooping it up immediately, and headed back to the bar together. Once arrived, they exchanged covert smiles and began following Tyler’s steps. And so their crazy night began.

Neither kept track of the number of drinks they consumed. Connor vaguely recalled the start of their drinking: essentially, whenever Tyler slid drinks their way, they would each grab one and exchange a “bottoms up” before tipping the liquid guilt down the other’s throat. As the “Slippery Nipples” or “Red-Headed Sluts” or whatever other unfortunately named drinks they downed made their effect, Troye and Connor devolved further and further into respective drunken blisses. Their time at the club was a blur from then on out, but certain flashes of memories remained.

Like when Connor, at Troye’s prodding, tried to hit on an extraordinarily pretty man ten years his senior in the goal of disrupting his approach towards Nick, and failed miserably. Troye stood somewhat behind the man and tried to mouth pick-up lines Connor could use, but between Connor’s incomprehensible stuttering and bright red face, it was clear he was hopeless at picking up of any kind. The man was nice, though, and must have realized Connor was supremely uncomfortable, as he broke off their encounter kindly, and made his way towards the bar. Troye skipped gleefully to Connor.

“You failed, you failed, you failed miserably!” he sung smugly.

Connor flipped him the bird.

Or that time when Tyler was taking one of his self-mandated dance breaks and the three of them somehow ended up right in the middle of the crush of bodies gyrating on the dance floor. They were mid-way through “Talking Body” (which had, funnily enough, been Connor and Troye’s fuck song of the weekend), when the power cut out. It was only for a few minutes, but chaos knows no frontiers when a people is devoid of light, and hysteria undulated through the club’s masses. Skin pushed against skin as people tried desperately to get their bearings in the heavy darkness of the dance floor. Club-goers yelled for the friends they had previously ditched to find hook-ups solo. Club technicians tried every one of their back-up light sources, resulting in random blinding flashes of white.

Amidst the havoc, Connor and Troye found each other. Their red-tinged eyes locked, the electricity of the surrounding madness overtook them, and they brought their lips together. They made out like they were the only ones left on Earth, until Tyler punched Troye in the back. The lights had been restored.

Or when one of Nick’s co-workers hollered “last call”, and Connor and Troye blearily started thinking about how to get back to the apartment. Before they ventured outside, they checked in with Tyler. He informed them that Korey had taken home the pretty man Connor had “hit on” beforehand, the news of which made Troye laugh until he practically peed himself.

Additionally, Nick had apparently seen straight through Tyler from the beginning, but had let him keep up the charade as it was too funny a show to halt. He was headed their way now, and Tyler waved good-bye to them both before he hurried off to join him. Connor wanted to ask him to stay for another minute to ensure their drunken selves were able to secure a way home, but Tyler had already practically sprinted away. Connor turned towards Troye, who was swaying solo a little ways off.

“Uber?” Connor asked him.

Troye nodded, his eyes hooded with alcohol and exhaustion.

“You call. I’m drunk too much.”

Connor dialed the number. The crowds were rapidly thinning out, so he let himself hook an arm around Troye’s waist to support him. They were both wobbly, but Troye more so.

“Can’t really stand,” Troye mumbled.

Connor helped his boyfriend over to the club’s back entrance wall, and eased both of them down to a clean-ish patch of ground. Troye lolled his head against Connor’s shoulder.

“Love drinking with you, Connie,” he said.

Troye’s twitchy hands grabbed hold of Connor’s sweatshirt, and he snuggled himself close to the warm boy.

“You love drinking, you mean,” Connor said.

He smiled brightly. He loved clumsy, fumbling, touchy Troye.

“No, love you,” Troye said.

He climbed into Connor’s lap sideways and wiggled as he tried to find the most comfortable position for both of them. His squirming was just enough to give Connor a semi boner, so Connor wrapped his arms around Troye to still him. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the friction, it was just clear neither of them was in any state to have real sex that night. Their drunken forays were always sloppy and messy and never completely anything anyways. He preferred it sober or slightly tipsy.

Troye had a dopey smile and drooping eyelids and looked too precious for this world. Connor kissed him on the forehead.

(…)

That kiss was the last thing he remembered upon wrenching his eyes open hours later. He had been asleep? Apparently so, as the scene before him was markedly different from the one of earlier. Only a few souls walked the streets, the club’s lights were dark, and Troye was sleeping in his lap. Shit.

What time was it? He was slightly more sober than he remembered being, but was still drunk enough it took him a while to recall where his phone had ended up. Troye’s back pocket. He grabbed it. 4:30 a.m., holy shit. Three missed calls from their Uber driver. Fuck. She had left a nasty voice message for them. Great. He called Tyler and got his voice mail. And it was then that it hit him what a fuck-up of a situation they were in. They were in downtown L.A., at four thirty in the morning, with no way to get home. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy motherfucking fuck.

“Baby, wake up. Wake up, wake up,” he said, shaking Troye.

“We…where?” Troye slurred. “Time for morning?”

He was obviously still drunk. Connor tried to stay calm for his sake.

“No, not yet. Come on, we have to get up.”

He grasped Troye under his armpit and heaved them both up. Where could they even go? Everywhere was closed, save the seedy porn shop across the road. In the shop’s doorway, a guy lingered whom Connor absolutely did not want to approach. Another Uber? He doubted they ran this late. Oh, god. Maybe a taxi?

He opened safari on his iPhone and quickly searched ‘taxis near me’. While waiting for the page to load, as his reception was shitty, he tried to shuttle Troye back to a more secluded corner of the street. Porn shop guy was eyeing them. Maybe they had gone unnoticed slumbering in the shadows, but mobile they were definitely susceptible to the creeps who stalked the streets this late.

His search finally went through, so Connor wasted no time in calling a taxi company. The receptionist informed him it was standard to make an appointment at least 24 hours in advance for a request this time of night, but she must have picked up on Connor’s panicky tone, as she eventually sighed and said she’d see what she could do.

He was put on hold. Elevator music twinkled through his phone’s speakers, and Troye hummed along. Connor smiled at him, but his face dropped when he noticed porn shop guy was no longer by the porn shop. He was now a mere hundred feet behind them, and he seemed to be observing the boys. Fear caught in Connor’s throat.

Pulling Troye along, he took a sharp left onto some random side alley, hoping to ditch the guy. His call picked back up and he was informed a taxi would be there to get them in ten minutes. Ten minutes. He could handle ten more minutes.

But every minute felt like an eternity with the guy still on their trail. He tried to rouse Troye into walking faster, but Troye was in some sort of half-lucid stupor and could only stagger along.

Seven minutes until their taxi was to arrive. The guy had turned into their alley. Connor chanced another glance back at him. He wore a zipped-up hoody, so his face wasn’t visible, but what stood out about his person was the bulky paper bag he had under one arm. Connor tried to reassure himself it was full of porno magazines, but something told him its contents were more sinister. He turned onto another alleyway, still urging his boyfriend to move faster.

Three minutes. He just needed to evade their stalker for three more minutes. The guy was now within twenty feet of them and Connor was starting to get anxious. Should they run? Or would that just draw his attention more? But when the guy crossed onto their side of the street, he knew they were in imminent danger.

He grasped Troye’s wrist and yanked him along as he sprinted down the length of the alley. The man’s footsteps hurried as well, and Connor knew all his fears were legitimate. He was after them, and gaining, so Connor started tipping over trash cans to block his path. He heard clattering behind him, but didn’t dare look back. He ran, Troye ran, the man ran… his footsteps drew closer. And closer. Connor could hear his labored breathing, the crinkling of his paper bag. He could feel him straining to catch up with them. He could feel– He could feel his hot breath on the back of his neck, the click of a knife being opened and Connor saw white with fear, panic, anguish, he pushed Troye in front of him and told him to run, run, maybe the man would just take Connor and let Troye be–

A police siren blared. The man did a double take and ran away from the noise. Away from Connor and Troye. Thank God. Connor wasn’t religious, but he said a silent prayer to whatever being might’ve been out there. Thank fucking God. The police car swerved their way and slowed to a halt near them. The vehicle’s driver seat window rolled down.

“You all good?” asked the women driving.

Connor was still shaking from the encounter and Troye was drunk as all hell and their taxi driver had probably gone the same route as their Uber driver, so he shook his head.

“He had a knife,” he said, as a way of lame explanation.

“Yup, know who you’re talking about. We’ve been after him for weeks. If rumors are to be believed, in addition to that knife he has ten thousand dollars and 2.5 kilograms of coke on him,” the cop said. “What about you guys? You kids got any illegal substances on your person?”

“No, ma’am,” Connor quickly responded.

The cop appraised them, but finally nodded.

“I’m guessing you guys need a ride?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Connor repeated.

She idled her car and hopped out.

“Gotta search you,” she said. “Standard protocol.”

Once she had finished her search, she let the boys into the back of the car.

“My colleague’s chasing down your attacker,” she told them. “He’s a drug dealer connected to a larger network of cocaine traffickers and we’ve been trying to pin him down for a while, but he’s a crafty son of a gun. Apparently got a penchant for pretty boys, though.”

Connor shot her an affronted glance through the rearview mirror.

“Sucks you were almost attacked, but aren’t you glad you contributed so positively to the LAPD’s efforts in bringing down that perp? Once we get this guy, we may be able to dismantle entire subsections of LA’s cocaine trafficking operation!”

Connor just stared at her.

“Maybe not. Tell you both what; I should probably take you back to the station, but the pair of you look dead on your feet and not a day above 18. You got parents?”

“I’m 23,” Connor said. “And he’s…”

He nudged Troye to respond, but he was fast asleep on Connor’s shoulder.

“20,” Connor finished.

“And you both got a good reason for being out on the streets this time of night?”

“A really stupid, drunken mistake on my part,” Connor said.

“Alright. If I can see some valid ID, we’ll take you in for questioning tomorrow, and I can bring you home now. Sound good?”

Connor nodded and handed over his driver’s license and Troye’s visa card. The cop checked both, took Connor’s address, and drove them back home.

The cop tuned into the LAPD’s radio frequency and its crackly monotony was almost enough to lull Connor to sleep, but after his massive blunder of before, he was weary of sleeping anywhere other than his bed.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up at his apartment building. He thanked the cop profoundly and was halfway out of the car before he realized Troye was still asleep. He looked at him, torn – he didn’t want to wake him when he looked so peaceful. The cop must have noticed his hesitation.

“You could always just carry him,” she said.

Connor looked at her, surprised.

“You’re already his knight in shining armor, might as well act like one.”

Connor blushed at this, but took her advice and scooped Troye up into his arms.

“Thank you,” he said once more.

The cop nodded and sped away. Connor staggered to his building’s lobby, fumbled around Troye for his key card, managed to unlock the door, and entered the security of his building at long last. He nodded at the lobby’s receptionist, who gave him a vaguely weird look, but he brushed past, Troye still in his arms, and rode the elevator up to his floor. His arms were getting tingly with the strain of his boyfriend’s weight, so he hurried down the hallway and entered his living room. He collapsed Troye onto his couch, eased off both their shoes, re-scooped him up and deposited both their bodies into the white, heavenly down of a duvet that covered his equally heavenly bed.

They slept soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //Next chapter's set in Perth


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes they made love in the traditional sense of the phrase. Those times, it was all slow caresses and held eye contact and tender kisses. They both were sure of themselves and their actions, but took their time exploring each other and paid no attention to the hours dwindling by. That kind of sex was simple and easy, and brought Connor pleasure in a slow-burning, aching kind of way.  
  
But other times, like right now for example, he longed for another type of sex that he knew Troye was into too if the moment was right. Right now, he wanted to be fucked. He wanted it fast and hard and wild; he wanted his legs shaking by the end of it, so that he was unable to walk.  
  
There would be no eye contact: Connor’d be bent over the bed and Troye would pound into him, going at whatever pace or intensity suited him. He’d whisper obscenities into Connor’s ear, which would make Connor moan Troye’s name. His moans would become ever louder and desperate as he teetered closer and closer to the edge. When they finished, their bodies would be slick with each other’s sweat and cum. Connor would have at least two good hickeys to remember the experience by the next day, and he’d prod them occasionally and be instantly brought back to the exact moment when Troye had leaned into himand whispered…  
  
“Connor, would you like some marmalade for your toast?” Sage asked him with a bemused smirk, effectively cutting short his fantasizing.  
  
Connor hadn’t just been imagining touching his hickeys; he’d actually been pressing his neck, which was probably why Sage was now looking at him so weirdly. He quickly moved his hand away and accepted Sage’s offer of marmalade. He hated to think what his face had looked like, lost in tainted dreams of Troye and lust.  
  
Speaking of, where was Troye? This Mellet family midnight snack was fun and all, but Connor was already struggling to conceal his emerging boner. Troye had been so horny earlier when they had had a precious moment alone for the first time all day. Where was he? He hadn’t gone to sleep had he? Connor couldn’t help but release a muted groan at the thought of going at it solo tonight.  
  
“What’s wrong? Marmalade not to your liking?” Laurelle asked him.  
  
“Um, no, perfectly fine, it’s fine! I love it! It’s delicious, best, uh, condiment I’ve ever tasted!”  
  
Laurelle and Sage shot him confused glances, while Tyde burst into laughter.  
  
“If you don’t like it, you can tell us,” he said.  
  
“Of course I like it! I just groaned cause, um, because…” Connor stumbled.  
  
Thoughts of Troye were giving him a painful hard-on? No, no, no, he couldn’t say that out loud. God, he was so awkward. Where was Troye when you needed him? He sipped the coffee he had brewed to buy himself time. It was quite delicious coffee, if he said so himself. Not too strong, piping hot, just a dash of cream. Every Mellet member present was enjoying a mug.  
  
“I remembered I left my memory card at the beach,” he finally said, trying to look as disappointed as such an announcement merited.  
  
“Well, you’re in luck ‘cause I found it,” a voice from the Mellet’s front doorway announced.  
  
Troye. Thank fucking god. He winked at Connor.  
  
“Wouldn’t have wanted all those pictures of me to go to waste now would we?” he quipped.  
  
“Connor, I’m sorry my son is like this,” Laurelle said.  
  
“Yeah, when he was born, his head was so big mum had trouble pushing him out,” Tyde chimed in.  
  
“How would you know?” asked Sage. “You weren’t even there! Tro probably slid out easier than you, you weighed like nine pounds when you were born.”  
  
“Kids!” Laurelle said firmly. “We’re eating. Please leave the crude discussions for later.”  
  
Tyde and Sage sighed, but moved on to discussing which beaches they should hit up later that week. Troye took the chair next to Connor.  
  
“Where were you?” Connor whispered to him.  
  
Troye didn’t answer, he just smiled and reached under the table to grab Connor’s thigh. He started a slow back and forth rub along the inseam of his jeans. Connor squirmed at the touch.  
  
“Troye, please don’t,” he pleaded.  
  
“Hmm? What am I doing?” he asked, a simper of innocence plastered on his face.  
  
Connor gripped the edge of his chair to maintain his sanity. The friction was too much, and yet not nearly enough.  
  
“Troye seriously,” he said as quietly as possible, through gritted teeth.  
  
“Connor, just tell me what the problem is.”  
  
Connor glared at Troye. This was torture.  
  
“Troye, I swear-” he started.  
  
But then Troye passed a hand over Connor’s crotch and all bets were off.  
  
“Troye,” Connor whined.  
  
Troye skillfully unbuttoned Connor’s jeans with one hand and slipped his fingers into his pants. Less layers between them meant more stimulation. Connor was fucking lost. And that’s when Steele decided to sit down at the table with his girlfriend.  
  
“Nobody told me we were having a second dinner!” Steele said. “I’ve been craving toast for hours. Oh and coffee too! Ma, could you pour Liav and I two cups? And Connor, pass the marmalade?”  
  
The fucking marmalade. In order for him to pass it to Steele, he’d have to stand up. And that wasn’t really an option at the moment; his jeans weren’t zipped, Troye’s fingers were still on his dick, and he had a very obvious erection. Connor kicked Troye under the table, but he just shrugged and continued his handjob. Apparently he was going to keep being an ass. What the hell was Connor supposed to do?  
  
“Connor? The marmalade?” Steele repeated.  
  
It was hopeless; Connor settled for just batting the marmalade further down the table.  
  
“Uh, thanks?” Steele said, looking confused.  
  
Alright, it was official, everyone in the Mellet family thought him an idiot. He needed to escape, and quickly, before anything truly unfortunate happened. Troye had just slid a hand into his boxers and was slowly jacking him off and Connor was this close to moaning out loud. He kicked Troye again. Nothing. Troye, the fucker. He would pay for this later. Connor just needed something to distract the Mellet family…  
  
And deliverance was bestowed upon him in the form of Shaun and the Mellet’s obese dog.  
  
“I want to know,” boomed Shaun. “Who in the hell left this poor defenseless dog locked outside. Whoever did this is a barbarian. Look at poor Jagga! She’s dirty and has scratches on her belly. Fess up. Who did this?”  
  
Laurelle and the Mellet children, save Troye, ran over to Jagga and cooed over her. They all defended themselves, blaming the crime on each other. Connor saw the opportunity for what it was and acted quickly. He shoved Troye off of him and zipped up his jeans to the best of his ability. He grabbed Troye’s bicep and dragged him out of the room, in the opposite direction of the rest of the Mellets.  
  
“Bedroom. Now,” he ordered.  
  
But it seemed Troye had other plans, because when they passed the front door, he yanked them towards it.  
  
“No, we’re not going out Troye!” Connor protested.  
  
“Come on. You trust me, right?”  
  
Connor heaved a sigh. Yeah, even after everything, he still trusted Troye. He followed him outside. Instead of being parked in the driveway as it usually was, Troye’s car was idling in the road.  
  
“Where were you before this?” Connor asked.  
  
“You’re about to find out,” Troye said mysteriously, while opening the passenger seat door for Connor.  
  
Connor lowered himself into the car. He watched Troye plug in his iPhone and press play on the Weeknd’s “Beauty behind the Madness”. Connor rolled his eyes. Troye always referred to the album as “baby-making” music and he sometimes played it, when they were, you know. Not that they were ever making babies. Occasionally, Troye would play it in the car, or on his iPhone and pass Connor an earbud while they were in public, because he knew how it affected him. He knew the memories it evoked, but right now, Connor did not need this. He turned down the volume.  
  
“I’m going to kill you,” he said to Troye, who was reversing out of his shoddy parking job.  
  
Troye turned the volume back up.  
  
“I heard that looooove was a riskkkk worth taking,” he sang, instead of responding to Connor.  
  
“What’s gotten into you?” Connor asked. “You’re exhausting.”  
  
“Mama caaaaaallled me dessstructive.”  
  
“Troye. Seriously. Where are we going?”  
  
Troye looked at Connor, his silly grin now faded.  
  
“Fine, if you wanna ruin the surprise.”  
  
Connor nodded.  
  
“I booked us a room.”  
  
Connor’s jaw slackened.  
  
“You’re kidding.”  
  
“Connor, you were taking us back to my bedroom, but Tyde is pretty much two doors down. And Sagey’s room is right above me. Plus, I got us a great deal.”  
  
“You’re shitting me. Troye, you were the one who flung your hand down my pants in front of your entire family!”  
  
“You didn’t enjoy it, then?”  
  
Connor couldn’t help the blush that arose on his face.  
  
“You’re messed up, Troye.”  
  
“Maybe. But if you weren’t so worked up, you probably wouldn’t have gotten into this car so blindly.”  
  
Connor rolled his eyes, though he snuck a look at Troye in the process. Every time he thought he knew Troye, he pulled something like this. Connor doubted he would ever know the depths of his crazy.  
  
“What kind of place is it?” he asked, relenting.  
  
“We're here. See for yourself.”  
  
Troye pulled into a dimly lit parking lot. Connor looked out the window. When he saw the lodging Troye was referring to, he let out a snort.  
  
“You got us a motel?”  
  
“I called Perth’s tourist service and asked what their cheapest lodging was for tonight. Voila, this is it. Perth’s seediest motel.”  
  
“You’re fucking cheap, Troye.”  
  
“You need 5 star accommodation for what we’re gonna do?”  
  
“Would’ve been nice,” Connor muttered.  
  
“I could always just drive you home. You never got to fully enjoy your coffee, did you? Haven't you always wanted to fuck a cup? You could do that, while I take advantage of the easily accessible free porn in the motel room."  
  
Connor spluttered with indignation. Yes, perhaps he had always wanted to fuck coffee. (Like, cold coffee. Not scalding hot; he wasn't a machochist.) But that didn't mean he was okay with Troye getting off to free porn when he could be getting off to his hopefully much more sexually gratifying free body.  
  
"Or I guess we could just fuck in the car,” Troye said.  
  
He grappled over the gear shift, honking the car horn in the process, and settled his knees on either side of Connor.  
  
“Troye, seriously, who knows what kind of place this is-”  
  
Troye thrust his lips onto Connor’s, shutting him up. Connor groaned and then let out an oomph when his seat back gave way. Troye had reclined it. His hands pinned Connor’s shoulders in place, and he grinded their crotches together. At first it was a slow back and forth, but the intensity of the thrusting upped dramatically after a few seconds. Connor squirmed and tried to get up out of his reclined position.  
  
“You’re not getting up ‘til you beg,” Troye smirked.  
  
He continued to rock his hips against Connor’s, varying his speed in the most agonizing of ways. Connor’s breathing was heavy and he was so fucking hard, but he did not want this to go down in the car. In a public parking lot. Using every ounce of upper body strength he could muster, he flung Troye’s grip off and sat up so violently, Troye’s slim body ricocheted backwards onto the dashboard. Seeing his opportunity, Connor got up onto his knees and leaned Troye all the way over the dashboard, pinning him in place with the weight of his body.  
  
“You thought,” he whispered into Troye’s ear. “You thought you could, what? Dominate me into submission? In your fucking dreams, Troye Sivan.”  
  
Connor felt Troye shiver below him. Forget getting out of the sketchy parking lot: Connor wanted Troye now. He gripped his jaw and leaned in to suck his neck. He wedged a knee in between Troye’s legs and started rubbing against him. Troye moaned, and Connor would have labelled the sound the most delicious he had ever heard, had it not been drowned out by three sharp raps on the driver’s side window.  
  
“FUCK.”  
  
Connor fell sideways into the driver’s seat and scrambled over to lock the door to protect them from the stranger creeping on in. But then he realized it was…  
  
“Kayla?”  
  
He unlocked the door and cracked it open. He shot a glance at Troye who was sitting very, very still, probably trying to pretend like they hadn’t been minutes away from fucking. God, how much had Kayla seen?  
  
“Hi Connor,” Kayla said.  
  
She sported the sauciest smirk. Damn.  
  
“Normally I wouldn’t interrupt, but I was passing through the Liquor Barons and I’m parked nearby and I recognized Tro’s car, so I came over to say hi. You were obviously busy, so I was gonna head home. But um, I’m not the only who noticed you two.”  
  
She nodded towards a cop loitering on the street corner. He looked to be radioing someone, so Connor tilted his head in question.  
  
“A minute ago, he was um. Let’s just say he was seconds away from pulling out his ding dong.”  
  
Connor stared at her.  
  
“His dick,” Kayla clarified.  
  
Troye snorted. Connor shot him a look. Kayla ducked her head into the car.  
  
“Hey, Tro. Tell me, why is it I’m always stumbling into you like this?”  
  
Connor looked between the two friends.  
  
“Wait, what? When else have you walked in on Troye?”  
  
“Oh, like three years ago. Troye here had been trying to bang this one guy for months, and goodie for me, I got to witness the exact moment he finally got lucky.”  
  
“Kayla, Connor doesn’t really want to hear this story.”  
  
Troye rolled his eyes.  
  
“No, go on Kayla,” Connor butt in.  
  
“Well, you may ask why I was privy to such a wondrous event. The answer, Connor Franta, is that Tro here has an obnoxiously large family, as you know, and that particular week, they were all sick and bed-ridden. So Troye, being the genius he is, decided to fuck this guy-”  
  
“Kayla, come on. It’s late, you should go home-”  
  
“In my bedroom. In my pure, virginal bed.”  
  
Troye snorted for the second time, recovering a bit from his embarrassment.  
  
“Oh, you shut up. Point is, you decided to hook up with this way older guy in my bed without telling me a thing. Plus you were both piss drunk, and he ended up voming on my carpet. Troye paid for a new one.”  
  
Connor laughed.  
  
“I feel like that’s certifiable slut behavior,” he said.  
  
“Right?” Kayla agreed. “He gave me shit for getting around, but Troye was no virgin when you met him, let’s just say. He didn’t get around all that much, but the way in which he did so was quite creative. There was this other time, at the neighborhood pool, after sundown one night-”  
  
“Alright. That’s quite enough, don’t you think Kayla?”  
  
“I interrupted something. Of course. I’ll leave so you two can get back at it. Just go inside, okay? I don’t want creeper over there-”  
  
They all turned to look at the cop, who was indeed leering at the three of them.  
  
“Having a show. Goodnight you two.”  
  
Kayla winked and waltzed off. Connor shut the door and turned to Troye.  
  
“How come you never told me about these slutty escapades?” he asked.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Troye muttered. “Kayla was exaggerating.”  
  
“I mean you’re enough of a slut with me, it’s sort of easy to believe…”  
  
Troye slapped Connor in the arm.  
  
“You jackass.”  
  
Connor just smiled at him; his lust-filled eyes making Troye feel some kind of way.  
  
“Let’s go inside.”  
  
Troye nodded and grabbed his pre-prepared overnight bag. They checked in and made their way to room 131. It was a pretty pathetic room; it contained nothing save one wardrobe and a queen bed. But it was pretty clear that at that point, all they really needed was privacy. Within minutes, both had stripped down to their underwear. Connor hooked his thumbs into his boxers and moved to pull them off, but stilled when he noticed Troye was standing, immobile, in the center of the room, staring at him.  
  
“What, getting shy now?” he asked.  
  
Troye shifted his weight and trained his eyes downward. He rarely blushed, but now his cheeks and neck flushed an uncharacteristic pink.  
  
“No,” he mumbled. “I just, uh, wanted to watch you. Cause you look really beautiful.”  
  
Connor blinked in surprise.  
  
“That was stupid,” Troye said.  
  
“No. No,” Connor managed to say, though his feelings threatened to make him speechless. “You can watch.”  
  
Troye nodded. He licked his lips.  
  
“Sit down,” Connor said.  
  
Troye staggered back onto the bed. Connor stared at him for a beat and then started slowly gyrating his hips. Troye caught his breath and giggled.  
  
“Shh, I’m trying to be sexy,” Connor whined.  
  
Troye rearranged his features into a more stoic expression.  
  
“It’s working. Keep going,” he said.  
  
Connor gave a small smile, before going back to his hip swiveling. He turned around and slid his hands into the back of his boxers. He bent over, and shimmied them half down, revealing the top half of his ass to Troye. He spread his ass cheeks to give him an even better view. Troye released a stifled moan, the sound of which shot straight to Connor’s dick. He pulled his boxers back up, ignored Troye’s squeak of protest, and turned back around to showcase his evident tent. Troye’s eyes latched onto it immediately. He moved to push himself off the bed, but Connor quickly shoved him back down.  
  
“Did I say I was finished?” he asked, steel in his voice.  
  
Troye shook his head quickly. His pupils were ridiculously dilated and his whole face screamed longing. His body too, if the bulge in his boxers was anything to go off of. God, having Troye on edge was the best.  
  
Connor grabbed his own nipples and tweaked them until they were nice and hard. He let his hands roam over his chest, moving incrementally downwards, but stopped suddenly when he noticed Troye’s hand gravitating to his dick.  
  
“Did I say you could touch yourself?” he asked.  
  
Troye pulled his hand back to his thigh, but said nothing.  
  
“Did I say you could touch yourself?” Connor repeated roughly.  
  
“No-o,” Troye stuttered out. “I’m so-orry.”  
  
“Hands by your side,” Connor ordered.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Troye complied. Connor went back to caressing his chest. He smoothed them over his sides, his abs – and then slid them down to his crotch, which he slowly massaged to an even harder state. He reached one hand into his boxers, closed his eyes, threw his head back, and lazily jerked himself off. He listened hard for Troye’s reactions – when he heard him groan, he started to go faster.  
  
Connor pulled off his briefs with one hand, while continuing to masturbate with the other. He panted for effect, but also because there had been so much foreplay between them, it probably wouldn’t take much to make him orgasm. However, he wanted Troye to be so unable to resist him, that he’d take control and break Connor’s earlier orders. He wanted Troye to grab him, fling him on the bed, and take him, hard. Connor wasn’t going to make the first move, though.  
  
Instead, he amplified his masturbating. He stuck four fingers in his mouth and sucked them like he would Troye’s dick. Once they were properly coated in spit, he curled his fingers around his cock and pumped it wantonly. His other hand found his balls, which he fondled vigorously. When he could no longer restrain himself, he opened his eyes.  
  
Troye was practically quaking at that point. His fingers clutched the sheets and his lips were trembling. He was clearly gagging for it.  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor,” he whispered.  
  
Connor shuddered but didn’t stop. He bit his bottom lip and tugged at it the way Troye always did. The hand that was massaging his balls moved to play at his asshole. One finger went in easily, two as well, even three was fairly manageable, as they had had sex yesterday, although quickly and hurriedly while the Mellets were out grocery shopping.  
  
Now, finally, they could take all the goddamn time in the world. He started pumping in and out of his ass, his other hand still tugging at his dick. His body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He felt heady with arousal, somewhat from his actions, but mostly from the way Troye was looking at him.  
  
“Come on, fuck me Troye,” he moaned.  
  
That’s when Troye cracked. He leapt off the bed and shed his briefs in a frenzy. He rushed to Connor and kissed him hard, his hand immediately finding Connor’s dick. He roughly stroked it, his other hand raking across Connor’s back. The slight pain made Connor mewl into Troye’s mouth. He sucked at Troye’s deliciously plump bottom lip while thrusting his cock harder into Troye’s hands.  
  
“Please, Troye,” Connor begged softly. “I need you to fuck me.”  
  
Troye pushed him onto the bed, which was a fairly easy feat, as Connor’s knees had buckled the moment Troye’s lips had met his.  
  
“Get on all fours, then wait for me,” Troye ordered.  
  
It was his turn to be in control. He unzipped his overnight bag and ripped open the condom he had brought. He slid it over his erection, then grabbed the lube he had packed. He poured a generous amount into his hand and smeared his dick with it, leaving a little left over to coat Connor’s asshole with. Once thoroughly lubricated and ready, Troye positioned himself behind Connor.  
  
“I love you like this,” he said in a low, deep grovel. “Ready for me. Trembling with anticipation.”  
  
Troye grasped Connor’s ass, and slid his erection over his slit. Once, then, taking his time, twice he passed over Connor's entrance. Troye let himself revel in the aching pleasure of the barest touching of their skin. Troye massaged Connor’s ass for a moment, before pushing into him. Inch by inch, he watched as his cock disappeared into Connor, and fuck, if that wasn’t the most erotic thing he had ever seen, he didn’t know what was.  
  
Connor, on his end, held his breath as he was filled. His heavy breathing stuttered when Troye bottomed out and he felt everything tighten up inside him like a taut string ready to be snapped. They both stopped all movement for one heart-stopping instance, before Troye reengaged in his frenzied state of before, and yanked out violently. Connor gasped, but instantly felt Troye’s absence.  
  
“Troye, fuck, please,” he pleaded.  
  
Troye dug his nails into Connor’s shoulders and complied. He burrowed the tip of his cock into Connor and stayed there for half a second, before thrusting all the way back in. He entered at a higher angle than the first time, and managed to hit Connor squarely in the prostate.  
  
“FUCK,” Connor cried out.  
  
Troye pulled out, then grabbed Connor’s hips for better leverage. He buried his dick back into Connor and from then on out, fucked him steadily. In, out, in, out; he timed his thrusts with Connor’s breathing, but purposely avoided Connor’s prostate for the time being. Connor didn’t seem too upset about it yet; he had one hand wrapped around his erection and was going to town on it.  
  
Troye felt sort of dizzy: from the pleasure, the heat, the musky scent of Connor’s sweat… Maybe that’s why he didn’t realize until sometime later that his thigh muscles were shaking from the effort. He stopped thrusting so he could get into a better position. Connor craned his head to see what was the matter.  
  
“Troye?” he asked, voice weak, presumably with bliss.  
  
Troye splayed his hands over the rounded top of Connor’s ass, and caressed it gently to show him nothing was the matter. Troye gripped Connor's hip bones, and pulled him back onto his dick. Perfect solution. He’d make Connor do all the work, instead of him having to do anything. Connor quickly caught on and slammed backwards whenever Troye pulled. To thank Connor for his efforts, Troye tried to aim for his prostate every time. Connor began groaning, then started howling as Troye repeatedly rammed into his most erogenous area.  
  
“TROYE.”  
  
“Shut up, the walls are paper thin,” Troye grunted.  
  
Connor moaned ear-splittingly loudly in response. He was a lost cause. But so was Troye; he could feel himself start to hover over the edge, his orgasm building steadily. Connor’s hand was erratic on his own dick, but it didn’t matter, Troye was repeatedly pounding straight into his prostate, and Connor’s vision was fuzzy.  
  
Once, twice, three times more and Connor let the pleasure that had been building in his abdomen consume him completely. He arched his back and gave into the bliss, as his ass repeatedly clenched around Troye, who was still thrusting through Connor’s orgasm. The repeated movement prolonged Connor’s orgasm, which only intensified when Troye’s began. Both were lost to the white light, the pure feeling of being joined together in the most natural of human pleasures.  
  
Once both had somewhat recovered, and after Troye had slid out, Troye rolled off his condom, tied it up and threw it out. He was still sort of weak on his feet, but he stumbled over to his bag and opened the wipes he had brought. He cleaned himself off, and then went over to Connor, who was lying inert on the sheets, and gently wiped him clean. The wipes followed the used condom into the trash can. Troye then burrowed under the sheets, which he pulled over Connor as well. His hand slid around Connor’s waist.  
  
“You know your family’s gonna give us shit for this tomorrow, right?” Connor said, voice hushed as if to avoid disrupting the sacredness of the prior moments.  
  
“We’ll say we had a slumber party,” Troye responded.  
  
“My slumber parties as a kid always involved copious amounts of fart jokes, excessive burping, prank calls – they were just a mess of us exercising our unfortunate sense of pubescent boy humor.”  
  
“So this is an improvement?”  
  
“Mmmm, I guess.”  
  
Troye removed his arm from Connor’s body and pretended to pout.  
  
“Are you kidding?” Connor asked. “If you had told young Connor that in ten years he would be fucking the boy of his dreams, well… I mean, young Connor would’ve probably quickly shouted ‘GAY’, but, you know. Deep down, he would’ve been mind-blown.”  
  
Troye giggled and snuggled back into Connor. He rested his head in the crook of his shoulder.  
  
“I love you,” he said.  
  
Connor stared down at the boy half on top of him. His curls were horribly mussed, his lips were hopelessly swollen, his skin shone with sweat. He was really fucking perfect, in Connor’s opinion. He craned his neck and kissed Troye’s forehead.  
  
“Love you too,” he whispered into his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, constructive criticism is appreciated. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

It had been three months. Three months of cold sheets and tables for one and ignored calls. Three months, and Connor wasn’t any closer to anything resembling okay. Although, he had grown number. That was something. 

He found little comfort in those close to him. His parents and Nicola pressured him to come visit them in Minnesota, and he complied, but left a day early after their pity grew so cloying as to be suffocating. They shoved platitudes and good intentions his way, but Connor just wanted them to treat him as if nothing had happened.

Being around friends was equally unbearable. Will and Arden took him out to lunch, and they were as well-behaved as could be, but Connor almost lost it when Will caught Arden’s tea as it slipped from her grasp. He handed it back to her with a grin, but it was his eyes that made Connor aware of the hollowness inside him. Will’s eyes were eyes in love, and they were such a vehement reminder of what Connor once had, he excused himself to the bathroom to get his shaky breathing under control.

Ricky treated him as if he was made of glass, Jc urged him to answer Troye’s calls to bitch him out, Alli sent him daily cat videos and ‘get better soon’ e-cards. They were all trying so hard on his behalf, but none of them really understood. Tyler was the only one of his friends who was genuinely helpful. He took him clubbing at small, hole-in-the wall places where no one was likely to recognize either of them. He didn’t say much on the subject of Troye – what was there to say after all? Connor told Tyler what happened and left it at that.

One night, at one of Tyler’s clubs, an attractive, practically made of marble guy sought Connor out the whole night. He bought him drinks, grinded up on him, whispered nothings into Connor’s ear. He invited Connor home with him at closing time. Connor shot a scared glance Tyler’s way – it had been years since he had had a one night stand. Tyler returned him an encouraging smile, so he went with it.

It helped. It had been a long time, so Connor just let himself give into the primal pleasure. He lost himself – body wrapped around a man whose name he was honestly unsure of – and tried to purge past memories from his mind. Connor stole out in the middle of the night, but he refused to feel guilty about it. Surely the man wasn’t expecting anything more, and even if he was, no way would he ever want Connor once he realized the weight of his emotional baggage. 

That man was the first in Connor’s series of meaningless hookups. He met men in clubs, in bars, through Tyler, on grindr. It took him a while to accept his own behavior, but Tyler allowed him to push past the internalized shame.

“Does it make you feel better?” he asked him one day, point blank, when Connor was worrying over how he ‘wasn’t that kind of guy’.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then let yourself be ‘that guy’. If it makes you happy, you shouldn’t care about the stigma. Fuck societal conventions.”

So Connor let his inhibitions go. His weekend nights were blissful reprieves from his weekday melancholia. Specific encounters never stood out to him, but he remembered moments. Fiery skin burning his own, plump lips soothing his tired body, thin fingers working magic on him. 

He didn’t really care what sorts of men he got with, so long as they were okay with not telling him their names. The anonymity felt safe and soothing. And it allowed him to imagine they were Troye. 

It was an awful habit. It started with the first guy. Connor had closed his eyes and it had been so easy to picture he was sharing a bed with the pale, slim boy he had loved. Who he still loved. He just had to focus on not moaning Troye’s name.

His only other outlet was his work. He threw himself into building up his label and curating his YouTube videos to ensure his audience didn’t know the true extent of his hurting. They probably knew something was off, but it was the sad truth that although viewers appreciated and even craved creators sharing some of their emotional ups and downs, lay the entirety of the burden on them, and they’d check out. So on camera he worked hard to be as happy and positive as ever. 

It had been three months, and he guessed he was sort of better? Maybe? Sometimes he’d go hours without thinking of Troye. Sometimes even days. But he always remembered on Wednesdays. Those were by far the worst days of the week, because they used to skype on Wednesdays. And now Troye tried to call on Wednesdays. For the first two weeks, he called every day. After that, he called every Wednesday, and every Wednesday when Connor didn’t answer, Troye left him a voicemail message. 

Connor was going to hell, for sure, so to prepare for the experience he made himself listen to the voicemails. He couldn’t really imagine anything more torturous, and yet he felt some strange, masochistic compulsion to do so. 

The first few messages were incoherent apologies. But after a few weeks, Troye must have realized saying sorry was worthless, so he still said it, just couched in rambling updates on his life.

The most recent one went like this: “Connor? You there? No? Okay. That’s okay. I’m on our tour bus right now, so sorry if my connection’s shaky. Service is terrible. Mum left yesterday and she actually seemed sort of happy about it, because she said she missed being able to tweet whenever she wanted. My parents are addicted to twitter, I swear. She says hello. She doesn’t know what happened, if you were wondering. She thinks we’re having some sort of temporary fight. I didn’t correct her, cause she loves you. She’d be heartbroken. I overheard Karina, yesterday, asking Mike what happened. I haven’t told them either, but I didn’t sing ‘for him’ last night. I have been, but last night… I just couldn’t. I’ll pull my shit together, and sing it, don’t fret. I know you always worry about how the fans perceive us.”

Troye let out a bitter chuckle.

“I’m not sure what you’re expecting to happen. That they never figure out we broke up? They know something’s up, for sure. I like your tweets sometimes, just to appease them. And because you tweet good things. Like that one quote? About how ‘life is fleeting, love is temporary, but somehow, bad memories are forever’? Depressing as fuck. I like how you passed it off as a book quote. You wrote it, didn’t you? Shit.”

A heavy sigh.

“I’m in Boston right now. Monday I went whale watching. You would have loved it. I almost face timed you, but… Well. It was this boat tour, and the whales, they swam right next to our boat! I even saw a baby whale. With its mom. They’re such huge creatures, but somehow they don’t realize. It’s like they feel the world was made for them, they move so freely through it. Unlike humans. We always fit wrong, we’re always jagged puzzle pieces, you know?”

Long pause. Only Troye’s breathing could be heard.

“You know, I was thinking about it… if I only had one minute with you, I would want nothing except your arms around me. Just you holding me… I think that’s what I miss most. Your touch, your comfort. You were my lullaby, and sort of still are, Connor. And I promised myself I wouldn’t get sappy like this, so I’ll go.”

But he didn’t. Just more silence. More breathing.

“As always, know I’m sorry. And know I don’t expect anything from you. And it’s okay to block my number; I’m not sure why you haven’t done it yet. I don’t have enough self-control not to call you, but feel free to make it impossible for me to do so. Know I think about you. Most of my waking moments. And sleeping moments too, sometimes. Know if you want anything from me at all, an explanation, a visit for closure, your beanie back. I’ll give you anything. I love you. Bye. Have a great week, Connor.”

Connor always listened to Troye’s voicemails the same way. He would lie in bed, with all the lights off, and place his phone on his chest. Then he’d take a few deep breaths, before pressing rewind. If he concentrated hard enough, it was almost like Troye was there with him, his head on Connor’s chest, telling him the minutiae of his day. 

Connor had a problem, that was for damn sure. He had lasted three months mostly intact, though. But the exact day that marked three months since their separation, everything went south. 

He was mindlessly scrolling through his twitter timeline when he first saw it. One of the fans he followed had tweeted it: a fuzzy candid shot that at first appeared to be an unextraordinary photo of Troye alone in some sort of booth, at a diner, or a bar maybe? Connor scrolled hurriedly past the picture, but came upon it again, this time sharpened by a more technologically savvy fan.

Troye was indeed in a restaurant booth, but he wasn’t exactly alone. Nuzzled into his shoulder was none other than Years and Years front man Olly Alexander. Olly had one hand threaded through Troye’s curls, Troye had one hand on Olly’s thigh, and both had a hand in the dagger stabbing its way into Connor's chest.

The picture probably meant nothing. Both were flirty people: surely they had just met up for drinks and taken the touching a step too far. But what if it wasn’t nothing? What if the picture did mean something more? That was Troye’s business, which Connor was no longer supposed to care about, he reminded himself. And who was he to be angry? After all his hooking up, Troye couldn’t see one guy three months after the fact?

No, he couldn’t. It was Troye’s inability to keep his hands to himself that had triggered their breakup after all. And not just his hands. Every guy Troye was with from their breakup forward would only remind Connor of the unfortunate details of the evening he had found out.

It would’ve almost been easier had they fallen out of love, as was natural to happen with a couple that had been together that long. But Connor’s feelings had been just as strong as ever when they broke up. He hadn’t wanted to do it, he hadn’t wanted to leave the man he loved, but how could he stay? And maybe Troye’s love had faded, maybe that’s why he strayed, but surely his insistent weekly phone calls meant something. 

Connor closed his eyes. Memories bubbled to the surface. 

Troye’s bare legs tangled with his own beneath rough motel sheets.

Drunk Troye stumbling, doling out sloppy kisses like they cost nothing. 

A fountain in Italy; Troye’s nervous, fumbling fingers. 

A shared pot of French pressed coffee. Shared secrets. 

The first time they met. The electric current that ran between them like they were two ends of the same live wire. Troye’s wide blue eyes, so heart-breakingly gorgeous they stirred something unconscious in Connor that day. 

Eyes that would later gaze upon others’ the same exact way. Maybe that’s what it was about the picture that was driving Connor over the edge. He had given his body to others, but he had never given his heart. 

Connor’s eyelids fluttered as tears pooled beneath them. He buried his face in his pillows and let himself cry. It was a soft, slow cry at first; tears leaking out, blotching his couch like a horrid heart stain. But as his mind cycled through all the memories, as the flashes of joy they had shared spun around him like some sort of sadistic cyclone, his insides seized up, and his shoulders began to heave, and he sobbed like he never had before. 

And then his phone rang. 

“Connor? You there? Remember that meeting we had scheduled for this morning?”

Andrew. Shit. And their meeting. Fuck. Luckily it was just the two of them, or his ass would’ve been toast.

“Connor? What’s up? You coming in or what?”

Connor hastily swallowed his tears and forced his body to shudder to neutral.

“Yeah?” he managed to answer.

“Connor, are you okay? You sound… not okay.”

Connor couldn’t respond.

“Connor? You’re scaring me. Do you, uh, need me to come over? Or something? We can cancel, it’s no biggie.”

Andrew sounded supremely uncomfortable at the prospect. They were friends, but not really that kind of friends, the spill all your secrets, lemme cry on your shoulder kind of friends. 

“No, it’s fine. Can you give me, like thirty minutes to get ready? I’ll be over as soon as possible. This is good, this’ll distract me. It’s good for me to work.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Yes, Andrew. I’m not irreparably broken, okay? Can you not treat me like I’m liable to snap at any moment?”

“Yeah, I’m trying Connor. But when you answered the phone, weren’t you cryi-?”

“Be there soon,” Connor interrupted, before hanging up.

He wiped his eyes. God, time to repress that last hour. Time to repress his life, honestly. Fuck, that was depressing. His life wasn’t Troye, he reminded himself. He had so much good in life, good within himself, which was segregated from Troye entirely. Like his work. 

He got dressed and called an Uber to shuttle him downtown. Traffic was a nightmare, so he was obscenely late. Andrew was clearly pissed, but he must have really thought Connor was in a pitiful state, as he didn’t say anything like he normally would’ve. Their meeting dragged on; the connection on Common Culture related international phone calls dropping like dead flies. Four hours later and the calls weren’t finished, but the third time Connor spaced out while in the middle of one, Andrew sent him home, promising he could handle everything on his own. 

Connor arrived home around four, which is when he realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day. His self-care had sort of been set on the back burner since everything went to shit. He hurriedly unlocked his door and resolved to order a lot of Chinese. Where was the takeout menu though? He opened the junk drawer in the kitchen and started rifling through it. It was overflowing, so he pulled the drawer all the way out and dumped its contents on his kitchen counter. Didn’t seem like it was among this crap – his bedroom perhaps? He looked in the direction of said room and –

“What the fuck.”

Troye was standing in the middle of his bedroom, arms full of clothes and random household objects, eyes wide with terror.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

Connor hadn’t realized he was moving until he was standing in front of Troye, ripping items from his hands.

“Are you fucking stealing from me? DID YOU COME HERE TO DRIVE THE KINFE IN DEEPER? Waltz into my apartment like you’re still welcome? Steal shit, leave a cute note, waltz out? FUCK YOU, TROYE SIVAN.”

“Connor-”

It was spoken like a plea. Connor halted his assault. Troye had hurled his hands up to cover his face and he was trembling like a fragile leaf exposed to a thunderstorm for the first time. But Connor didn’t have it in him to strike again. He dropped the belongings he had gathered – which he now realized were Troye’s own: records, sweaters, beanies he had never recovered – and went back to the kitchen. Numbly, he resumed his search for the takeout menu.

“Connor. Connor, please, I’m sorry. I honestly meant to slip in and slip out. I still have your key, so I was gonna return that too. Okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I fuck up everything. Shit.”

Connor could hear Troye shuffling behind him, but Connor refused to give him the satisfaction of turning around. 

“Everything. I desecrate everything sacred in my life. We weren’t perfect, but we had something holy and I fucked it up so bad.”

Connor could hear the beginnings of tears in Troye’s voice, but he told himself to ignore the aching that made him feel. 

“Connor. Can you look at me? Like in the eyes? And then I’ll go. I don’t really need the sweaters and stuff, you can keep them. I’m just gonna take my “Back to Black” record, is that okay? You'll still have the one – the one I gave-”

Troye’s voice cracked.

“I gave you,” he whispered. “Connor. Please. Look at me. Connor, I love you.”

Connor’s hands shook as he listened to Troye break down behind him. He shivered as he felt Troye give into his tears. 

“I love you so much.”

Connor closed his eyes and prayed for Troye to leave.

“I leave you voicemails, did you know that? Every week. Everything I do, I think of you. You’re ruining everything in my life. Everything we shared is tainted. Every song I hear is about you. My thoughts are you, you, you. I’m obsessed. I’m sick.”

Troye was sobbing through every word, and Connor wanted to kill something. 

“I need you. I don’t fit into this world, Connor. I used to. But now I’ve become-”

Connor couldn’t help himself. He turned to face Troye.

“A jagged puzzle piece?” he spat at him.

Troye’s crying ceased.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

“Yeah, I know about your fucking voicemails. Your stupid jerk-off sessions where you cry about your problems and shove how much you still love me in my face like the needy fucker you are. But I listen to them. Every week. Because maybe you don’t have the self-control not to call me, but there’s no way I could stop myself from listening. You’re deep in my veins as poison, Troye.”

Troye was rendered shell-shocked. He dazedly sat on Connor’s couch.

“What have we become?”

“What you made us, Troye.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Really? It’s not fair to say that you brought this on us? Cause I feel like cheating on me is pretty black and white. It wasn’t just once, either, for fuck’s sake. Many times. It was many times with many guys, or so I was told. Because I wasn’t fucking there. I was here, the whole time, waiting for you to come home to me.”

Troye grabbed Connor’s wrist and pulled him down onto the couch.

“But I love you, Connor,” he pleaded. “And I don’t think I can move on.”

“Right. And Olly then?”

Troye made a noise of surprise.

“He’s – he’s nothing.” 

“Really? Have you told him that? Because you should, if that’s how you actually feel. Don’t lead another guy on, Troye. Even though it’s apparently your specialty.”

Troye went silent at that. Connor watched as he withdrew into himself. He looked about seven years old, his face a mixture of self-pity and confusion.

“So there’s nothing I can do?” he asked finally.

His eyes were blue pools of hope. In them, Connor saw something of the Troye he fell in love with. The ice around Connor’s heart thawed.

“Troye-”

“We can work past this. I can make you forget. I’ll give you anything.”

And there it was. Troye’s stubborn insistence that his problems were just a blip on their path to utter happiness. It made Connor’s heart freeze right back up. 

Seeing Troye in person one last time was the closure he had never gotten. He’d spent nights picturing Troye back in his bed, in his arms, imagining how Troye would beg for his forgiveness, how right it would feel when they were reunited. But all Connor could feel was the chill in the air.

“Nothing,” he said.

Troye’s blue eyes wrenched shut, and Connor felt the loss of their brilliance immediately. It was a shame and a sorrow to kill their joy, but Troye had killed his, and he wouldn’t feel guilty for saying no. He allowed the sadness of the death of them to wash over him, though. He let their blue baptize him. It was the end of something profound, and he let the hush of the moment mark that ending. Troye seemed to be undergoing a similar sort of reconciliation process. Finally, he turned towards Connor.

“Can I have my minute?” he asked meekly.

Connor understood what he was saying immediately. He nodded, and slowly but surely wrapped his arms around Troye’s body. He smoothed his hands over Troye’s back and rubbed it soothingly, the way he always had, before. Seconds passed as they breathed together, inhaling each other’s familiar scent. Troye’s head fell onto Connor’s shoulder, and Connor flinched a little, but he let it rest where it fell, over his heart. The minute passed, and several more, before Connor finally disengaged from the embrace.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” he said.

“You don’t?” 

“No. And I’d still like to be your friend, someday. After the both of us take some time to recover.” 

Troye nodded. He sheepishly got up and grabbed “Back to Black”. Connor helped him collect the rest of his items, before walking him to the door. 

“Goodbye, Troye.”

“Yeah. Bye, Connor.”

Troye exited Connor’s apartment, but before Connor could close the door behind him, Troye slid a foot in to block it. 

“Connor?”

“Yes?”

“There’s no way we can ever…?”

Connor’s eyes bored into Troye’s. 

“No. I mean, maybe, I don’t want to lie to you. Maybe after years pass, we’ll be at that place again. But if it happens, you’re not going to be the one to change my mind. It’s gonna be something I decide on my own. I’ll be the one to realize I can look past what you did. But probably not and definitely not anytime soon.”

“Maybe’s better than no.”

“Don’t spend your life hoping, Troye.

And with that, Connor eased the door shut. He felt surprisingly clear-headed. Later, the sadness would crash back over him, but right now he was sort of okay. Except he was no longer hungry for Chinese. He tidied up the mess he had made searching for the takeout menu and then lazily skimmed his shelves for a light snack. In the end, he just grabbed a bag of French Roast coffee. He filled the coffee carafe with water and let it heat up, before adding the coffee grounds to the mix. Seven minutes later, his coffee was ready; he poured himself a steaming mug. 

A dash of cream, and he prepared to savor his coffee. After his spectacularly shitty day, he sort of felt like he would never be warm again. Hopefully his go to coffee brew would turn that around. He took a sip, and – Fuck. He ran to the kitchen sink and spat out every ounce of coffee he had almost swallowed. It tasted absolutely horrific. Had he messed up one of the steps? He thought back to what he had done, but no, he hadn’t. 

He hadn’t fucked anything up; he had just lost his taste for coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who read this all the way through!


End file.
